The Long Way Home
by E. S. Young
Summary: Whoever said that Sands was stationed in Mexico alone? No romance involved. Try family. Back in the USA, our favorite gov't official undergoes experimental surgery while coping with his sibling's own problems. Clearly, life has never been more unbalanced.
1. Twisted Sister

**The Long Way Home**  
  
By  
_  
E. S. Young_  
  
****

Chapter One: Twisted Sister  
  
Well . . . what is there to say except that this is my first 'Once Upon a Time in Mexico' fic and that I don't own any of the characters save for any new people who might show up? And I just said all of that so there really isn't any more to say. .; o.o It is weird, though, cuz I've had a Jack Sparrow-head-voice much longer than I've had an Agent Sands-voice and I only just saw OuaTiM, whereas PotC has been going through my head since it came out in theaters. I guess it's cuz OuaTiM kinda leaves more of an opening for a sequel than PotC does. Or maybe I'm just lazy .;;; Umm, anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading this fic as I do writing it. Much thanks,  
  
_Sidney/ESY/Cerridwen III_  
  
**VVV**

  
  
Lynné was bored, not to mention impatient. Though the former was the only thing that showed as she absentmindedly drummed her fingers on the table. The table in that stupid little restaurant where he was suppose to meet her and now he was . . . seventeen . . . nearly eighteen minutes late. And that pervert at the bar counter was checking her out. Lynné rolled her eyes.  
  
'_Yeah, as if you'd ever have a chance with ME, buddy._'  
  
Fed up, she gave into her thoughts and glanced around the room. Perhaps he had walked in and was attempting to sneak up on her just to get a laugh. But no. Sands knew she wasn't easily startled, so he wouldn't try anything. Besides, their meeting was to have been serious. Strictly business.  
  
'_Not if he brings that bitch with him,_' Lynné thought sourly as she took a sip of her strawberry daiquiri. God, why was he even seeing her? Ajedrez was an all-around pain in the ass that thought she was something, and Sands hated people like that. Maybe he thought he could get something from her.  
  
'_That could be taken many ways, some very suggestive._'  
  
She scowled down at the wooden table before her. Where did she GET ideas like that? Well, giving whom she had grown up with, it wasn't a surprise.  
  
Lynné was about to turn around in time to see the same man at the bar give her a sleazy wink. Resisting the urge to flip him off, she distracted herself by fishing the strawberry out of her drink.  
  
'_These things are harder to get out than you'd think . . ._'  
  
Three minutes later, she was just about to leave when she heard gunfire sound in the streets outside. Lynné instantly realized why Sands had not shown up. Instinctively her hand went to the gun strapped to her hip, though anyone would think she was just getting out her wallet. She quickly hailed a waitress and once her check was brought, she paid her bill and left, almost forgetting the sleaze at the bar. Said man was not about to let her go as easily as she would have wanted.  
  
"¿Dónde está usted lejos a en tal apuro, la miel ?" he asked. (Where are you off to in such a hurry, honey?) And he grabbed Lynné by the shoulders as she walked out the entrance of the restaurant.  
  
"If I pay you, will you go away?" she sighed, not understanding a word he said, but getting the idea that he thought he could score. Fat chance.  
  
"¿Qué?" (What?)  
  
Letting her disgust show, Lynné reached into the pocket of the black, lightweight blazer she was wearing and pulled out a large sum of money and held it out to him. "Savvy?"  
  
The man grinned and reached for the cash, but Lynne stopped him abruptly.  
  
"_Leave – me – **ALONE**_." She motioned for him to get lost. The man may not have understood English, but he got the hint. Throwing another sleazy grin her way, the man took the money and was gone.  
  
"Well," Lynné muttered under her breath once the man was out of sight, "there went one I didn't have to kill."  
  
And with that, she took out her gun, and headed off down the street and towards the gunshots.  
  
**VVV**  
  
'Huh. I got off better than I thought I would.'  
  
It was around noontime in Mexico and the fight was starting to die down. The Day of the Dead, El Día de los Muertos, had not contained the type of excitement it had last year. Last year it had just been a big celebration for the citizens of Mexico, but this year . . . all hell had broken loose. And Lynné had been there to witness it. So what if she had shortened a few lives, big deal. It wasn't as if she hadn't done it before. 'Restoring the balance.' That was what Sands called it. And speaking of which . . .  
  
'_Where the hell is that bastard, anyway?_' she thought, remembering that she had yet to see him since early that morning. At first she was just annoyed, annoyed that he had kept her waiting. No long since had that feeling been replaced with worry. Hastily brushing a strand of long, dark brown hair from her face, she scanned the streets for something, anything familiar. Then, she saw something.  
  
There. Lying in the dusty street, just a few feet ahead of her, was a figure. Ajedrez. Lynné's eyes narrowed from behind her rap-around sunglasses when she saw the woman, who was obviously in pain. A lot of it, from the looks of things. With no trace of sympathy, Lynné walked over to the prone woman lying on the road, intent on at least figuring out what had happened to her, only to be met with an insult.  
  
"Usted ramera." (You bitch.)  
  
"English, if you don't mind," Lynné requested calmly, "I'm in no mood today."  
  
"Then go away," hissed Ajedrez through clenched teeth.  
  
"What happened to you?" asked Lynné, ignoring what the woman had said.  
  
"Ask your bastard brother, he'll tell you." She smiled cruelly. "If he's still in the condition to, that is."  
  
If looks could kill, this woman would have been dead on the spot. However, she was probably going to be in a few minutes, anyway, so Lynné didn't want to waste her time arguing.  
  
"You know where he is, and you are going to tell me, or I'll start to refuse the generous feelings my supposed 'conscience' is emitting."  
  
"What are you saying?" Ajedrez turned her head to look up at Lynne's looming figure.  
  
"I'm saying . . . ." drawled Lynné, "that I considered killing you quickly and painlessly once you had given me the information I wanted, but you had to go and try my patience." She shook her head in dismay, laughing lightly. "And, lemme tell ya, that wasn't the smartest move on your part. I take it you're just about immobile right now, yes?"  
  
"Bite me," she spat bitterly.  
  
Lynné smiled slightly. "I'd say . . . yes. And . . . that doesn't go very well with fire ants. The things'll eat right through your flesh, if the sun doesn't fry your brain first."  
  
She saw Ajedrez's eyes widen at these words as the woman realized there was an entire civilization of the bugs crawling out of the ground right beside her. Lynné's smile widened at this. Good, maybe now she'd get somewhere.  
  
"So," she continued coolly, "Either tell me where my brother is, because I know you know, and I'll off you right here, or refuse and let yourself become a human buffet. The choice is yours, dear."  
  
"Go to hell..." Ajedrez gasped through the pain.  
  
"Last chance," warned Lynné calmly, "Where is he?"  
  
At thought seemed to strike Ajedrez as these words left Lynné's lips. Her eyes lit up for a moment before she said:

"Oh . . . you'll be . . . seeing him soon enough, though . . ." She paused. ". . . I can't say the same for him." She had the nerve to laugh at what she said. Or rather, she tried to but it came out sort of choked. Still, this woman had done something to someone she cared about, and Lynné knew it. Not bothering to hide her anger, Lynné swung her leg, and kicked Ajedrez right in the gun wound going through her abdomen. The gasping laughter abruptly stopped, Ajedrez's eyes widened once again before she passed out entirely.  
  
Wrinkling her nose at her as if she were a nasty bug and not a person, Lynné stalked off and left Ajedrez's lifeless body where she had found it.  
  
"Scuffed my shoe, the bitch . . ."  
  
**VVV**  
  
It wasn't hard to find Sands. Just follow the bloody, dirt road, Lynné had thought with a small amount of amusement. But that all vanished the moment she saw him. Leaning aganst one of the many buildings in the area, in his all black attire, dark hair, and blood trickling down his face, Sands looked nothing short of a creature from a horror movie. But he was her brother and, foreboding as he looked, Lynné began her silent walk towards him.  
  
There was a kid standing next to him. Why, Lynné could only guess, but this was Sands, after all.  
  
"¿Señor, usted es bien?" Lynné heard the little boy ask she made her way towards them.  
  
She could barley hear Sands' answer:  
  
"Yo no sé . . ." (I don't know . . .)  
  
The kid seemed strangely optimistic for the situation he was in, Lynné noted, for he confidently informed Sands that everything would be all right. Lynné wasn't so certain. Optimism had never been her strong point. Hell, she wasn't even content with herself. She counted three wounds, made by guns, obviously. And there was also the matter of the large amount of blood pouring down his face.  
  
'_Shit. Don't let this be what I think it is . . ._' she thought wildly, '_Don't let me be right . . . I am fucking **SICK** of being right . . ._'  
  
"Señorita?" the little boy asked once Lynne had reached them, "Quién es usted?" (Who are you?)  
  
Sands already had his gun out. Lynné put her hands on her hips and scowled at him.  
  
"Put that thing away. It's only me."  
  
Her voice was calm, bored, even. Her thoughts, however, were frantic.  
  
'_Why the hell wouldn't he know it was me . . .unless . _.' Lynné looked up at her brother's face again. Damn those sunglasses . . . she couldn't tell . . .  
  
"Lynné?" Sands wondered aloud, turning his head towards her. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"Making sure this godforsaken town isn't taken over by pot selling hippies," she replied.  
  
"The cartel, Lyn," corrected Sands. "Hippies aren't the type to take control of things. Especially not in Mexico."  
  
"Riiight, my mistake." She turned to the kid, having forgotten he was even there. "Umm . . . gracias," she said uncertainly. Spanish had never been her strongest subject in school. That's why she had taken French. Hoping the kid understood English, she continued, "For . . . whatever you did . . . . He'll be all right now."  
  
"You sure about that, Lyn?" Sands asked, looking at her questioningly.  
  
"Shut up," was her 'brilliant' response. She was in no mood to think up sharp-tongued remarks at the moment.  
  
The little boy seemed to have understood her, because he got back onto the bike he had with him and rode off. Lynné sighed and turned back to Sands.  
  
"So, did you get anyone?" he asked.  
  
She shrugged. "Just some random cartel members. No one important. You?"  
  
"Same as you, and –"  
  
"Ajedrez?" she asked unnecessarily, "Yeah, I figured that. She wasn't dead when I saw her, but by now she will have been long gone. I told you she was untrustworthy."  
  
"No you didn't," Sands informed her.  
  
"Yeah? Well, I meant to. You wouldn't have listened to me anyway."  
  
Sighing again, she realized just how much of that she had been doing. It seemed like she had been sighing more and more ever since she had come to Mexico three years ago. And the sighs had increased ever since she found out she had been burned. Burned by the CIA, the people who had sent her to Mexico when she didn't speak a word of Spanish. Yeah, that had really restored her faith in the government. She pulled out her cell phone. Sands heard her.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Getting a ride," she replied, dialing, "We can't stay here. They'll be after us."  
  
"The cartel," said Sands.  
  
"Or the Central Idiocy of America," suggested Lynné. "More than likely, both."  
  
"I can't believe you're saying I shouldn't have trusted Ajedrez," Sands said after Lynné had finished phoning her partner, "when you trust someone like Liam."  
  
"He was the closest thing to an actual friend when we were assigned to Mexico together. Besides . . . I trust you, don't I?"  
  
Sands flipped her off.  
  
"Sands . . ." Lynné sighed, ". . . what happened to you?"  
  
"I got on the wrong side of the Barillo cartel members, they shot me a few times, the end."  
  
"You never get shot." He knew she was looking straight at him. "What happened?"  
  
Sands paused, considering. She was only twenty-seven, but about to become twenty-eight. However, she was still young, could still be corrupted. But she was his sister, so there was a good chance that she already was.  
  
"I saw too much," he answered simply.  
  
"Oh," she replied faintly, "I see."  
  
"Yeah, funny thing but . . . I don't."  
  
Another pause. Lynné had a retort, but it seemed wrong to say it, even for her. Instead she did something Sands wouldn't expect from anyone else but her.  
  
"Let me see how bad it is," she commanded gently.  
  
"No," he replied shortly, "Not here."  
  
"I'll have to take a look some time, it may as well be now."  
  
"Fine," Sands said after a moment in a 'you're-gonna-get-what-you- paid-for' kind of tone. "Just . . promise me you won't scream, freak out, or loose your mind entirely."  
  
"Sands . . ." Lynné shook her head. "I've never promised anything in my life, and my mind's already lost."  
  
Her brother smirked without amusement and removed the glasses from his face. All that showed where his eyes had once been were a pair of dark cavities and dried blood. Blood which stood out even more now that he had removed his sunglasses. Perhaps it was just the fact that something usually seen on the human face was gone, or perhaps it was the massive loss of blood, but Sands looked incredibly gaunt. And, for the first time, Lynné noticed how pale he was. '_Shit._'  
  
She couldn't ask the question, 'why did her brother, of all people, have this happen to him.' He kind of deserved it. Hell, so did she. But Sands was the kind of person who would . . . she couldn't think of how to finish that thought. Sure, Sands had killed a lot of people, criminals and innocents alike, but it just didn't seem right. It was so sudden. He wasn't one to get caught, and if ever he did, he could talk or shoot his way out of it. That's the way it had always been. Except for now. For once he had let his guard down, he had gotten too far in and this had been the result.  
  
'_I saw too much._' The words echoed in her head. That was one of the main rules in the CIA. It was practically one of the Ten Commandments to the agents that worked there: 'Thou shalt not get caught.'  
  
She felt horrible, possibly terrified. Something like this had never happened, and she had never thought it would. If she felt like this, Sands couldn't have felt any better. And on top of that, he had had his eyes drilled out and gotten shot three times. Apparently, she wasn't the only one having a bad day.  
  
"Ajedrez made some sort of comment about 'seeing you' when I last saw her," Lynné told him once he had put his sunglasses back on. "I had hoped I'd been wrong in thinking it had something to do with . . . your eyes . . . .damn . . . I hate it when I'm right . . ."  
  
"That makes two of us," Sands replied tiredly.  
  
"Sands, I," she began but changed her words, "You're gonna hate me for this, but . . ."  
  
He didn't even hear Lynné move forward. She was always quiet when she walked or even ran. All he knew was that she wasn't a horrible as everyone, including Lynné herself, made her out to be. Sands was a bit surprised when he felt his sister put her arms around his torso and rest her head against his chest.  
  
This wasn't right. Lynné was a cold, distant person with no emotions outside hate, humor, and the occasional distress. She must be really out of it to do something like this. Especially to him.  
  
Slowly, shakily from loss of blood, Sands managed to put his uninjured arm around her shoulders, unsure of what else to do.  
  
**VVV**

Oy, everyone's an emotional wreck at the moment, aren't they? Don't worry, thought. I'm doing my best to keep the characters in-character and this isn't going to be incredibly angst-y. There's even gonna be a bit of HUMOR_ in chapter so come. And Sands isn't going soft, either. My Sands head-voice would kill me if I let that happen to him. Really. He told me this. o.o;;;_  
  
___One more thing: This story title? It's actually the title of a song (number 11, I believe) on the new Norah Jones CD, 'Feels Like Home.' After hearing it a countless number of times, I figured it _COULD_ be sung by a guy and that it definitely fits the characters in this story. And if anyone doesn't believe me, I'll be more than happy to send you an e-mail with a link to a site where you can get the lyrics. ._

R&R! Praise, comments, helpful criticism -- anything but flames are welcome! This is my first 'Once Upon a Time in Mexico' _story and I am ready and willing!_

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	2. Arrival at Casa de Lynné

**The Long Way Home  
**  
By  
_  
E. S. Young_  
  
**Chapter Two**: Arrival at Casa de Lynné  
  
I suppose I should mention at this point that Sands' lovely sister's name is pronounced 'Lin-ae' which explains the little mark above the 'e' in her name. I forget what you call that; I know what it's called in French but I don't know the English translation. o.o;; This also explains why Lynné is better at speaking the language of love than she is at Spanish, as you will soon see in chapters to come. By the way, and Spanish that is spoken is this story has been translated from English on a website I found. If anyone notices anything wrong, I'd be happy to know so I can correct it. Those sites aren't always accurate (never use them to do you homework for whatever language you're taking, trust me -.-;). Thanks much. .

- - -Blood. That was all Liam saw when he slowed his car to a stop and rolled down the window. Blood, some dry, some in the process of doing so, ran down Sands' legs and one of his arms. It was hardly noticeable because he was wearing black – a stupid thing to do, really, because it was so hot out – but it was still there. And it didn't look like it was stopping any time soon. The fluids on his fellow agent's clothing may have been hard to distinguish, but the blood on his face wasn't. Streaming down from behind his sunglasses, the vast amount of blood made Liam wonder why Sands was still there; still standing.  
  
And there, standing beside him, was the young woman who could be no one else but his sister. The resemblance was remarkable, even when a red mask of gore covered Sands' face. She looked strangely calm for a girl whose brother was obviously badly injured, and this worried Liam. It would have been better if she had been wringing her hands in panic, biting her nails until they bled, or wrapping a single strand of hair around her finger so tightly that she ripped it right out of her scalp. But no. There Lynné stood, her arms crossed over her chest, talking calmly to the man she should have been in a panic over. When Liam pulled up, she turned from Sands and smirked at him.  
  
"Close your mouth, sugar, before a bug flies in and you choke."  
  
Liam, realizing he had been gaping at the two, quickly stopped. Sands, who realized it was just Liam who had pulled up in the car, lowered his gun. And Lynné shook her head at the both of them.  
  
"Okay, you're gonna have to use me as a crutch, so . . ." She trailed off as Sands placed his good arm around her shoulders. She in turn slipped her arm around his waist and led him around to the car. Liam, upon sensing that Lynné intended to have Sands lay down in the back seat, stepped out of his car and opened the back door.  
  
Lynné slid in across the back seat of the car. She noticed that, as he gingerly made his way into the vehicle, Sands was groping around for something. Possibly just trying to feel his way around the interior, but she knew she would be mistaken in thinking so. Cautiously, she held out her hand for him to take.  
  
When his hand brushed hers, Sands shoved it away, as Lynné had expected him to do. It was worth a try, but, damnit, she hated being right . . . It was a useful gift she had had since before she could remember, but other times it also proved to be a burden. Being a highly intuitive person, Lynné could predict the move of practically everyone she met. She was never unsure of something, was never wrong. And once again, she was right when she wished she hadn't been.  
  
Suddenly, she was brought abruptly from her thoughts when she felt an odd pressure on her legs. Looking down, she saw that Sands had decided to rest his head on her lap.  
  
'_Man, he must be out of it to do something like this . . ._'  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked aloud.  
  
Sands turned his head to the sound of her voice. She didn't sound angry or annoyed, just curious, a little concerned, and perhaps slightly surprised. Good, Sands had always liked shocking people, and getting to Lyn wasn't something that happened very often. He decided to be honest with her, wanted to see – 'Not literally, of course,' he thought bitterly – her reaction.  
  
"It's more than likely that I'm going to pass out within ten minutes of this car ride, whether it be the loss of blood or simply the fact that I always doze off in cars," he explained casually, "In any case, I'd just like to be comfortable."  
  
"So now I'm comfortable?" It wasn't a question. "Funny, if I recall correctly, YOU always said I was bony."  
  
"Who the hell else am I gonna use? Liam?"  
  
Lynné glanced up and caught the look in Liam's eye as he slid into the driver's seat of the vehicle and heard her brother's comment. Trying not to laugh at the look the easily freaked out man gave her, she returned her gaze to Sands and replied:  
  
"If that's the way you wanna be, then I suppose I have no choice. I can't really say no, can I?"  
  
"Not unless you want to hurt my easily injured feelings."  
  
"Normally, I'd take the risk, but seeing as we're in a hurry –"Lynné looked back up at Liam and motioned for him to get going "— I think I'll pass."- - -The ride to his sister's place took longer than it should have, mostly because Liam, being the annoyingly cautious person that he was, saw fit to make hairpin turns and change direction every five minutes, but Sands endured it. He thought he had even managed to catch some sleep; he vaguely remembered hearing Lynné saying:  
  
"Sands . . . . you have to stay awake."  
  
He remembered flipping her off and hearing a frustrated sigh next.  
  
"I know you don't want to, but you have to stay conscious," she said to him.  
  
"At least until we get to casa de Lynné," Liam added.  
  
"Eyes on the road, mister," warned Lynné, her dark eyes narrowing maliciously. It was good that the kid was trying to be helpful but they really didn't need a car crash at the moment. She had left her AAA card at home.  
  
'_And ID, the police'd need that, too. Not like I ever carry any –'_  
  
Her thoughts were cut off once again by a sharp gasp from Sands. While she had been thinking he had apparently attempted to sit up and say something smart to Liam. Unfortunately, his bullet wounds had protested.  
  
"Damnit," Lynné cursed, "if you don't keep still you're going to make those WORSE and since I'M the one stuck with the job of tending to them, I'd rather keep the problem as minimal as possible. Savvy?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah." God, Lyn was a bitch when she was worried. No, that wasn't right. Yeah, she was worried but she was trying (and succeeding) to be as calm as possible. She wanted to be in control, and Lynné almost always got what she wanted. He had to give the girl credit; any other woman he knew would be crying like a little kid and telling him how sorry they felt for him, giving him endless amounts of pity, which was the last thing he wanted right now. That and a seat belt digging into his back. He could do without that.  
  
She had always been like that, though. Ever since they were kids, Lyn had kept a cool head in a distressing situation. Whenever a friend or relation was hurt (whether it be mentally or physically), she was willing to help out if she was needed, but they would never get any pity out of her. Sands knew he could count on that later that night when she was sewing him back together.  
  
Soon, when he couldn't distinguish his thoughts from reality, Sands knew he was blacking out again.  
  
**_That's a rather interesting thing to say, considering your condition_**.There went that annoying voice in his head that was always there to contradict every choice he made. Everybody had a voice like that; his was just particularly loud at the moment . . . and a real asshole.  
  
**_You expected nothing less of the supposed 'conscience' of YOUR being?_** the voice wondered with mock innocence.  
  
'_Shut the hell up, I don't need this right now_.'  
  
**_Y'know . . . talking back to the voice inside your head is one of the first signs of madness_**.  
  
'_Really?' he mused silently, 'And here I was thinking I had already lost it_.'  
  
**_Next step is talking out loud_**, his thoughts continued, ignoring his comment. **_Probably won't be long until that happens_**.  
  
'_Fuck off,_' Sands thought tensely.

- - -

"No . . . . damn that bitch . . . God, no . . ."  
  
Lynné bit her lip as her brother continued to mutter in his sleep. She wasn't sure whether she should wake him up or not. While she was in training they had always taught her that when a person was injured, it was best to keep them conscious in case the worst should happen. Liam looked at her in the rearview mirror.  
  
"Shouldn't you –"he started.  
  
"I don't know," she answered truthfully, "I do know that he's exhausted and needs sleep and it's not likely that he'll be able to get any once I start fixing him up."  
  
"Couldn't you . . . knock him out or something? Give him some numbing drug?" Liam ventured.  
  
Lynné sighed at him and shook her head.  
  
"You should know by now that even if I offered him Novocaine he'd refuse. Doesn't want to be more hopped up on drugs than he already is.  
  
"Besides," she continued, "I'm not sure if it's safe to give him anything ANYway because I don't know what kind of effect it'll have on the stuff the cartel gave him."  
  
She saw Liam look momentarily concerned before turning his concentration back on the road. He knew that mixing some medical drugs could produce nasty effects: Comas, organ failure, death. Those bastard cartel members wanted to make sure that, even if they let someone they had tortured go, if said person went to seek medical attention, they would most likely never live to identify whoever had done them harm. He knew several people who had died that way.  
  
Liam blinked his clear blue eyes several times and gave himself a mental shake and pushed the depressing thoughts to their proper place: The back of his mind. He was too sensitive to be a CIA agent, as Lynné so often commented. Speaking of the young lady . . . Liam stole another glance at his partner in the rearview mirror. Luckily, she didn't notice, for he doubted she would have liked being caught absentmindedly brushing Sands' hair out of his face. Scratch that. Lynné wouldn't have wanted anyone to know that she was capable of being soothing, caring, loving.  
  
He smiled slightly, despite the situation they were all in. That was why he had stayed with Lynné, even after she was burned and he wasn't. Although she had a icy, unbreakable gaze and an exterior to match, he had tolerated her, put up with her threats and smart-assed remarks. Liam was the kind of guy who, sappy as it may sound, believe that everyone had their own inner-good person. Whether or not his partner was one to show it very often, he knew she had it in her, somewhere. . .

- - -

Finally, Liam pulled the car around the back of Lynné's house. Not a moment too soon, either. The drugs the cartel had given Sands were powerful, but they were beginning to wear off. Lynné could already see that pain had started to nip at his body. If the fact that Sands was clenching his teeth together, fighting the instinctive urge to scream, the way he was breathing was enough evidence. Harsh and shallow, Sands breathing became quicker as his sister and Liam attempted to help him into the house. He wanted to refuse just to prove to them he was not helpless, but he knew it would be stupid to do so. That and the fact that Lyn would kick his ass if he even tried to walk on his own. Damn her for spending two years in med. school . . .  
  
The journey inside the house wasn't too terrible. Sure, it hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the stairs. It was just his luck that his sister had decided to take up residence in a three-story house, and that the room he had been residing in while on his mission happened to be on the second floor. Every step he took sent bolts of agony through his legs. He wondered how long it would be before he was willing to beg Lynné to put a bullet through his head just to make the pain stop.  
  
'_She wouldn't do it_,' he thought suddenly.  
  
"Careful . . . there're about six steps left," Lyn was saying.  
  
**_I wouldn't put it past her_**, his annoying subconscious stated.  
  
"Just five more steps."  
  
'_No, she wouldn't kill me, no matter what I did_.'  
  
". . . four steps . . ."  
  
**_Ohhh . . . I dunno_**, his mind mused thoughtfully, **_I'm sure if you threatened her life a bit ._** .  
  
". . . . . only three left . . ."  
  
**_._** **_. . or begged hard enough. If you managed to cry a bit, that would help, too. . _**.  
  
"Two . . ."  
  
**_Just as long as you make her think you're in enough PAIN, then Lynnie'll go all hysterical and weepy and kill you_**.  
  
'_Fuck off. She won't and I know that –'_  
  
**_Yeah, but I don't. And I am part of you, after all_**.  
  
"One."  
  
It's a good thing Lyn had given his guns to Liam whenever he had passed out in the car, or else Sands was sure he would have shot himself right then and there just to make the voice shut up.

- - -

_  
Blah, I wanted this to be longer but, alas, time is never on my side anymore and if I hadn't decided to split this into two chapters instead of _ONE_, this update would've most likely been postponed until sometime next week. So, I guess a short chapter is better than no chapter at all, right?_


	3. A Hard Day’s Night

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Three**: A Hard Day's Night

Argh . . . sorry this post is so late . . . my computer decided to be _evil _and refused to allow me access to the Internet, then it up and DIED so here I am, typing up the third chapter (again) on my _new_ one. 9.9; Welcome to the age of technology, ladies and gentlemen.

Erm, anyway, what is it with me and naming chapters (not to mention stories themselves) after songs/bands? This particular chapter is named after a popular Beatles song, one that I find relates to this chapter in particular because most of the characters in said chapter haven't been having the best day of their lives . . . and night isn't looking any better.

- - -

"Y'know . . . for an impassive, you're really quite gentle."

His sister shrugged, or at least Sands assumed she did. One without eyes can never tell.

"Med. School will do that to you. So will studying the human psyche." Lynné pursed her lips as she managed (on the fifth try, too) to slip a length of catgut through a needle. She had always been bad at sewing, whether it was a piece of material she was stitching up or a human being, but Sands didn't need to know that.

On the other hand, she had excelled in all the other medical courses she had taken in college. She knew that it was best to have Sands sitting up in bed rather than laying down. She knew that she had to carefully wash away the liberal amounts of blood that had dried before she had her brother remove his shirt and pants (thank God he was wearing boxers that day). She also knew to flush out the holes the bullets had made before she started her work on them. And she even knew to wear latex gloves while doing all of this. But wasn't all of that common sense?

Lynné shook the pessimistic thought away. She probably could have been a doctor if she had really wanted to. But she had her reasons for discontinuing her medical studies.

"Speaking of med. School," Sands began, his words came out somewhat short as Lynné stabbed her needle into his right arm.

"Mmm?"

"First, take the pins out of your mouth, second, I seem to recall that you dropped out." He cocked his head to the right, trying to ignore the little shots of pain the needle was giving him along with the sudden reels of agony that came with the other four wounds he was sporting. He knew the drugs weren't going to last forever. "Why?"

"Why don't you tell me?" It was a rhetorical question. "I'm too gentle, remember?"

"Sands bit down hard as another wave of pain crashed over him. "And that bothered you?" he asked, panting slightly.

When Lyn answered, he pictured another shrug to go with it.

"Start getting to soft, people will walk allllll over you. Let your guard down, and they'll use you. Get to close to someone, and you just might be as good as dead."

Lynné forced herself to become engrossed in her sewing, pretending not to notice as Sands' hand clenched into a fist on top of the bed sheets. She had gotten to him with ease. What the hell was wrong with her? It was more than likely Sands was already tearing himself up inside over how foolish he had been, how stupid he had been to actually _trust_ someone. He didn't need anymore help; he was probably doing a good enough job on himself . . . God, was she really that cruel? Of course she was, no shit, Sherlock. But that was what she did best, wasn't it? She got into people's heads and pissed them off.

**_Gee . . . hell of an accomplishment there, girl._**

_Riiiing . . . riiiing . . . riiiing . . . _

Sands and Lyn both looked for the source of the light, jingling tone, and found it was coming from the dresser where Lyn had distractedly laid Sands now blood drenched clothing. While he couldn't see it, the sound was all too familiar not to know. The phone. _Shit_.

"Lyn – don't – get – that," he commanded quietly, reaching his good arm out to grab her shoulder.

"Sands, don't be rude," Lyn scolded sarcastically, rising from her position on the bed before he could put a hand on her. "If someone feels the need to give us a ring, I feel it's only fair to answer their call."

If Sands had had eyes, they would have widened incredulously. Admittedly when Barillo's men had first carried out their grisly duty he had tried to call the CIA; by that time he was desperately in need of help. But that was only because he was so hopped up on the cartel's drugs; he hadn't been thinking of the consequences at the time. If he had managed to contact the CIA, they would have swooped down on him and before he knew it, he would be clad in a straight jacket in some mental institution in Washington D. C. Let's face it, while he was one of the agency's best, they didn't exactly care for his . . . unique way of handling things, and they only knew about a quarter of the crimes he committed in order to get what he wanted. He knew full well that they were constantly looking for a reason to 'let him go,' and the fact that he was now useless to them would be just the excuse they were looking for. He couldn't let that happen, death would be better.

"Just don't do anything stupid," he ordered through gritted teeth. Obviously another burst of malice had just hit him, but Lynné didn't think it looked too bad at the moment. Right now, she had a call to answer.

"Bonjour?" She heard Sands groan in frustration from behind her.

"Who is this?" the voice on the other end demanded. Instantly, Lynné had a mental flash of what the man might look like: Mid-forties, hair thinning, portly . . . he could probably be irritated easily, too. This was someone who thought he was something and liked to treat others like incompetents, kind of like her keyboarding teacher back in high school (inside-joke, btw). Yeah, she could definitely get to this guy.

"I'm sawrry," she said into the phone, putting on a whinny voice and sounding nothing like herself, "but waz there a poyson you had waanted to tawlk to?"

"Young lady, this is a private line," the man informed her, "and I demand to know who you are and what you are doing using it!"

"This is a private line? An' yowu're tellin' me I'm not ta be usin' it?" she asked, sounding perplexed.

"Yes, this is a private line!"

"But if this is private line, then why awer you usin' it?"

"I'm authorized to, miss! But if you'd kindly inform me why _you're_ –"

"Hang on," interjected Lynné, "lemme put onnna my associate on the phone."

"Associ – who is this!?!"

"Who is _this_?" Lynné asked, now using a British accent.

"That's none of your business until I know who YOU are," the caller insisted.

"Excuse _me_, but I believe I asked you first," she replied, sounding slightly insulted.

"I – no you didn't!"

"I didn't?" gasped Lynné, loosing the British voice and adapting a panicky, breathless one. "But . . . I thought for sure I did . . . I, oh my God . . . If I didn't – Oh! I don't want to think about what'll happen . . ."

"Look, lady, just calm down –"the caller began.

"Calm down?" she nearly screamed, sounding more than slightly hysterical. "Calm down!? How can you SAY that? Ohhhh, if only you knew what I've been through . . . the betrayal, the torment, being locked in a _trunk_ . . ."

"Miss, whoever you are, please, just breathe a bit –"

"_And_ they took my belt buckle, too!" she sobbed in despair.

Sands' eyebrows went up at this and he was sure, if he had been able to see, that he would have seen Lyn glaring at him from across the room. Okay, so the belt buckle with the marijuana plant on it HAD been hers, and, yes, he HAD worn it that day, but she always took HIS stuff . . . nonetheless, he shrugged and gave her a 'what-can-I-say' grin.

Seeing this, Lynné let out a disgruntled sigh and shook her head at him, turning back to the phone.

"Look, just stay where you are, we'll be sending someone right over –"the man started, but Lyn cut him off.

"Y'know what?" she said, speaking in normal tones. "I don't think that'll be necessary. Have a nice day!"

And without a moment's hesitation, she threw the phone down on the floor, where it hit with a resounding _'THUNK'_ raised her booted foot, and brought it down on the object with a satisfying crunch.

"They'll have traced that call," Sands informed her.

"I don't think I was on long enough for them to," she responded, "And if my favorite people DO show up . . . then it's a good thing I already have most of our things packed."

"Well damn you for being longsighted."

- - -

Liam paced the floor of the living room. The TV was on, but he wasn't listening. Lynné would be mad, no, scratch that, furious when she came down and asked him if the news had held anything worthy of concern. He would tell her he didn't know – better than lying, something he would sincerely regret doing because Lynné always knew when you lied – and she would ask him in that dangerously calm voice of hers why, and he would be truthful.

Thinking about Lynné was always work that left him in a state of bemusement. Of course, his partner was a confusing woman who could make anyone believe what she wanted them to believe, so that made sense. He often tried to figure out just who she was and how her mind worked, but it was impossible. Not 'nearly impossible' or 'next to impossible,' it was simply impossible. And that's exactly the way Lynné wanted it to be.

Long, dark, shoulder-blade length hair and equally dark eyes; it was strange how brown eyes like Lynné's, which were usually very common, could be so cold and dangerous, yet so very lovely. . .

'_Lovely!?_'

What, was he attracted to Lynné now? She was very pretty, even if she did resemble her brother greatly. Not saying that he wasn't easy on the eyes either – not saying that he, Liam, was drawn to men in the least.

Liam sighed and ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair that fell a little past his shoulders. It was Lynné who had convinced him to let his hair grow longer, actually. And it was Lynné who was the cause for all of this.

No, that wasn't fair. She didn't cause everything.

She and Liam had been sent to Mexico about three years ago. He was just out of the academy and ready to start on a mission, and Lynné had just returned from Greece having successfully 'settled' a dispute between mob families. Liam had chosen to take on the job of taking down the ever-rising cartel in Mexico because he was eager to serve his country. Lynné agreed to the deal because she was sick of America, though now, Liam imagined, she despised Mexico even more.

Things had seemed to be so going well at first. Lynné had set everything up, hired the right people, made the proper connections . . . and then everything had started to crumble before her, and the CIA had made no move to help.

And now, it seemed, that Sands had gone through the same thing, only it wasn't certain that the agency hadn't bothered to stop the cartel from disposing of him, whereas with Lynné they had made that all too clear.

But he had survived, and still worked for the CIA. He had just . . . chosen . . . to remain in Mexico because . . . he didn't want Barillo or drug lords like him to take control of the country.

'_That's a damn lie,_' he could practically hear his partner say.

It was, too. Lynné had ordered him to remain in Mexico, worried that he would whisk off to the CIA and inform them of her whereabouts. And, as if that weren't nice enough, kindly tell them that she spit on the CIA and that she could care less if they all went out and . . . . well, Liam would rather not repeat, even in thought, what his partner had said the CIA could do.

- - -

It had to come some time, Lynné knew that. But why now? Why her? It wasn't that she was squeamish or anything, she had dealt with things much more graphic than this . . . with other people. That made all the difference.

She had asked Sands whether he wanted her to wait until he had fallen asleep and/or passed out first or go ahead and get it over with now. He had chosen the latter, the asshole. Eh, but he was probably going to blackout once she had started her . . . job . . . anyway, so . .

Taking in a breath, Lynné slowly began to clean off the congealed blood on her brother's face, saving his eye sockets for last. Neither she nor Sands wanted the glasses to go off until everything else had been taken care of.

**_Why the hell are you getting so tense over all this? God, you act like you're some hormonal teenager and you're about to remove his pants but are nervous about it cuz you don't really _know _the guy . . ._**

'_Oh, go screw yourself._'

Sands' breathing became increasingly more pained as time pressed on.

"We both know that even if I could give you painkillers, you'd refuse them. . . so it's rather useless to offer, I think."

"Yeah, yeah . . . fucking bastards . . ." His voice diminished as his breathing became more shallow. "I don't even know why they let me go."

"Probably so they could take bets on how long you'd last," answered Lyn.

"Y'know," said Sands, raising his head a little, "I think I may have heard one of them say just that."

"Told ya." Sucking in a low breath, she said, "Okay . . ."

In one quick movement they were off. Lyn winced impulsively at the sight before her. She hadn't gotten a good look at the cartel's handiwork when she had asked Sands to remove his sunglasses earlier that day, so it hadn't been that horrific, but now . . . Lynné closed her eyes slowly. She had seen a lot of things way back when . . . but they could never compensate for this. The horrendous dissection that those bastards, Barillo and Ajedrez both, had done or had ordered to be done (it didn't matter) to her sibling. If she hadn't known they were already dead, she would have considered them as good as if she had gotten a hold of them.

"Oh my Christ," she breathed, ". . . they were in such a hurry –"

"'They' would be Guevera," Sands interjected, "I won't call him by his proper title of 'doctor' because he's not. He just some sick fuck who gets enjoyment out of –"

"They didn't even finish the job," continued Lyn as though she hadn't heard him. "They didn't complete the procedure the . . . fuck . . . mooks . . ." She trailed off, gazing into the dark caverns that had once held Sands' eyes.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"They . . . they didn't finish the job," she repeated, her hand rising to cover her mouth, which was, strangely enough, twitching as if it wanted to smile.

"I thought we'd already decided that," Sands snapped, "Remember? They wanted to take out bets before I up and croaked on the operating table."

"No, jackass, Barillo's goons, doctor, or whoever the hell the got to do it – _the didn't finish what they started_."

"And why would that matter?" asked Sands in bored tones.

"Because," his sister said, sounding somewhat triumphant, "they only took your eyes."

If he had had said eyes, Sands would have rolled them at her and then demanded she start taking her medication if she was on any, and then informed her that she should get some if she wasn't.

"Lynnie, I think you're los –"

"No, you don't get it, that's all that was removed. They didn't get to the optic nerve or the . . . the main . . . things—oh, I don't know what they're called, I'm not an optometrist –"

"Lyn," Sands warned, his visage looking more and more dangerous by the minute, "start making sense, or I swear I'll blow you sky high."

"Hell you will," Lyn smirked, "but I will tell you."

"Good –"

"Just let me check something. Give me a moment?"

Before he could protest, Lynné had removed herself from the bed and dashed out of the room, leaving Sands to lye on the bed, shaking his head after her. A few moments after his sister's departure, Sands leaned his head back on the pillows and sighed.

"Why does she always do that . . . ?"

- - -

_And so marks the end of another chapter. The next one, which will hopefully be up sometime next week, is expected to be much more detailed and . . . ermm . . . painful and . . . gory, I think are the words I'm looking for. Reviews are much appreciated, thanks! ._


	4. Fire to Ice

**The Long Way Home**

By

E. S. Young 

**Chapter Four**: Fire to Ice

Wouldn't ya know it? I don't have anything to say. blinks Really, I don't. That's a first, for those of you who know me from my IZ Fan Fiction, which there will be more of, I assure you. But first, this one. I hope I've written Sands well. His lines and actions are hard to think of, y'know? You never know what he's gonna do. (looks over at Sands, who is placidly drinking his tequila) Erm . . . . I won't ask where he got that, I just won't.

- - -

Ohhhh this was going to suck. The pain had slowly been ebbing away at the remaining drugs the cartel had injected into him. It had been doing it for the past hour or so, Sands determined. He could feel the drugs fading quickly now. At first it had been slow, tedious, feeling a bit like pin pricks, but the pins had started to dig deeper and had begun to lengthen, widen to the point where they felt, no, had turned into daggers. Big, long, ten-inch things that were plunging into every part of him, and each one was on fire. And now . . . . there would soon be no drugs left, none at all . . . and the thought of suicide would be very tempting . . . .

NO. No, no, fuck NO. Not like this. If he was gonna do that last tango in Paris, he wasn't going to do it lying on a bed writhing in pain, and he certainly wasn't going to do it in Mexico. He hated the godforsaken country and everyone in it. He had only taken on this damn assignment because he was bored. He had nothing better to do, and he hated having to remain in one place longer than necessary.

Sands gasped sharply when he was once again afflicted by the burning sensation that shot through his body. It was just like the others he had been suffering through that day. Only difference was this one didn't subside. It wasn't like the others. It remained with him, gnawing at his wounds, cuts, scrapes, bruises, everything imaginable was being bitten and torched.

'_Where the hell is Lyn!?_'

**_Gone, ditched you, I expect._**

'_No . . . that's not her style. She wouldn't leave like that._'

**_Wouldn't she? She's left people before. First her family, then the United States, quickly followed by the CIA, how long do you think it'll be?_**

'_'Til she leaves me alone? Never. She's my sister, for Christ's sake; she'll never leave me the hell alone._'

**_Yes she will,_** his so-called conscience insisted, **_She'll leave you all alone with no one but me for company._**

Sands had to smile at what the voice had said despite how grim his situation looked.

'_Then I won't be alone then, will I?_'

- - -

"What's wrong?" Liam asked as Lynné came flying down the stairs and into the living room. She said nothing but flung herself in front of his laptop and exited out of his game of solitaire.

"Hey, I had four hundred-something on that game," he cried in protest, but Lynné silenced him with one look. Her eyes flashed and that was all it took.

Within seconds her fingers were flying all over the keys, her eyes never leaving the screen of the little computer. Her face wore an expression one in deep concentration mingled with slight irritation might wear. She was clearly looking for something because Liam heard the annoyingly familiar, "You've got mail!" sound from the computer.

"Yeah, yeah," Lynné muttered under her breath, more to the screen than to him.

"Might I ask what you're doing?" he inquired mildly.

"No," was the sharp answer, then, "just get me a medical book. One about eyes, preferably."

Liam raised an eyebrow in her direction but said no more and went off in search of the book. Meanwhile, Lyn's furious typing subsided a bit as the search engine slowed to a halt. Nothing but a blank widow appeared on the screen.

"Damn you AOL," seethed Lynné, "Stupid, slow piece of shi – bingo." A somewhat triumphant grin crawled across her face as she clicked on one of several links the computer showed.

"I found your book." Liam's voice came from somewhere upstairs.

"Flip through it 'til you find a picture of the eyes and all the –"she waved her hand, searching for the right word – "junk that's behind them."

"What are you getting at?" Liam asked as he leafed through the thick volume he was carrying.

"Guevera, sick bastard that he is, didn't complete the procedure," she explained. "He only ripped out his eyes."

She looked up just in time to see Liam's mouth fall open. Shit, she'd forgotten he didn't know.

"So . . . so . . ." he stammered, oh get a hold of yourself, guy. "He . . . doesn't have any –"

"No. But that's all he's missing."

"Um . . so?"

Lynné rolled her eyes at him. '_Men._'

"He conveniently forgot to take out the _optic nerve_. They even left his eyelids, from what I could tell. And that –"

But she never finished. At that exact moment a strangled yell came from the guestroom upstairs. Both Lynné and Liam turned their heads toward the ceiling; a moment passed. Liam suddenly jumped a bit as another scream echoed throughout the house. Eyes widening with concern, Lynné leapt from her chair and bolted back up the stairway, with Liam right behind her.

- - -

When did it suddenly get so cold? A moment ago the heat had been so intense he felt for certain that he had died and gone to Hell. But the flames surrounding him had suddenly gone out, and a cold mist had taken their place. At first it had been a relief from the heat, but soon it had become too much. The fire that had once engulfed his body was suddenly taken over by a horrible frost. It clouded his mind, filling it with thick, swirling fog that made it more and more difficult to tell illusion from reality.

The phone slipped from his hand as he watched Ajedrez slid into the chair across from him. He had told her to meet him there, so why did it worry him to see her? Maybe it was that smug look she had on her face. It looked like a bad imitation of the smirk one his sister always wore whenever she had just gotten exactly what she wanted. But that smile had never concerned him before.

'_You never really saw it coming, did you?_' she asked with a light laugh in her voice.

Next thing he knew, there was a needle being plunged into the side of his neck and everything was driven into darkness.

Then, out of nowhere, a light appeared, a little blurred but a light all the same. He tried to sit up, but it was impossible. His legs and arms had been cruelly strapped down to a cold, steel table, making him almost immobile; all he could move was his head.

He looked around the small, square room. A few cronies were stationed here and there, and there was Guevera, the sick fuck, giving him a satisfied, slightly twisted smile. Beside him stood . . . . Christ . . . Barillo . . . ? But no, that wasn't right . . . he was dead, wasn't he? Sands turned his gaze to the slim woman sitting on the table next to his with her legs crossed, gun in hand.

Oh. . .

My . . .

Christ . . .

'_I'm sorry, baby, but I told you I didn't want any part of your plan . . ._'

She was sorry? Is this how she made her apologies? Strapping every guy she dated to table and then doing . . .God only knows what? And then it hit him. He had let her in on his scheme, the plan he had concocted in order to get Lynné and himself out of Mexico, away from the cartel. He had been stupid enough to let Ajedrez in on his little plan . . .

'_. . . I'm his daughter._'

. . . and she had sold him out to Barillo, her father. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Guevera moving towards him with . . . what the hell? Was . . . was that a DRILL? His eyes widened, he didn't bother to mask his terror this time. All he could do was struggle, and hope that someone, anyone put a stop – a white-hot pain shot through him.

He screamed, louder than he had ever allowed himself to, as things went from hazy, to bright, vibrant red, to complete and endless black. And then, before he could curse any of them, Guevera, Barillo, Ajedrez, the torture began all over again. Somehow it seemed much worse, now that he only had one eye left. And he yelled again, though it was muffled somewhat this time . . . why?

Sands stood in the middle of a dusty, deserted street in Mexico, panting for breath, barley able to stand no thanks to the two bullet holes going through his legs. And there before him was Ajedrez, the only woman he had given full trust to, and she had betrayed him. But he had killed her, he knew he had. However, there she was, wearing that horrible smile she had worn earlier that day and holding a gun up, the barrel pointed right at his throat.

'_Like what you see?_'

He HAD killed her, Sands was certain of it, he had heard her drop, but hadn't seen her fall. But that wasn't important. His vision seemed to be working perfectly for some reason . . . he could see her go down now. She was already set up. All he had to do was . . . watch her fall . . .

'_Like what you see . . . ?_'

She was sorry . . . the hell she was sorry . . . and if she wasn't, which he was sure of, he would _make_ her sorry. . .

- - -

Lynné came to a sharp halt when she finally reached the spare bedroom. Sands was all but flailing on the bed, entangled in the sheets because he was thrashing so badly. Lynné was about to rush over to him, when something solid crashed into her from behind. Wheeling around to throw a glare at Liam, Lyn had to bite back a grimace at the look of absolute horror on his face. She wondered for a split second what was wrong with him before the answer came to her.

'_Of course, dumbass! He just now found out Sands is missing his EYES, now he actually has to face it._'

Liam continued to gaze in repulsion at the man groping around on the bed. He looked as though he was trying with every ounce of self-control he possessed not to retch right then and there. For what had to be the millionth time Lynné wondered how a guy like that could get into the CIA.

**_Don't dwell on that, fuckmook! Do something before he – shit._**

There was nothing she could have done. She had watched as her partner's eyes rolled back into his head, swayed uneasily, and then fainted on the spot.

Rolling her eyes at the crumpled body in front of her and deciding that he was in no immediate danger, Lynné turned to help her brother only to find that he was already standing right behind her. Sands was panting slightly and blood had once again began to ooze out of his empty sockets. Strangest of all, he was wearing a face of absolute loathing and he was looking straight at her. But before she could do or say anything, he had grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the nearest wall.

"Sands, what the he –"

"Shut up," he growled at her, "Shut the hell up."

He had lost his guns somehow, but for the first time being unarmed didn't concern him. All he was thinking about now was how much pain he could cause the bitch who had ruined everything for him . . . and had stood there and laughed as she watched it happen. As the thought came to mind, Sands wound his fingers even more tightly around Ajedrez's throat, but not enough to cut off her breathing. He wanted to hear her beg before he killed her.

Lyn's breathing became short as she felt Sands clench her neck tighter.

"Sands . . ." she managed to gasp, "Sands I want you to listen to me –"

"I'm afraid I don't feel obligated to do that, mi querida," he shot at her.

'_Mi querida?!_' she thought wildly, '_What the fuck . . ?'_

Then it hit her, something stirred in the back of her memory: Just because Sands never spoke in Spanish didn't mean he couldn't speak the language at all. In fact, the only time she had ever heard him use Spanish was when he was talking to —

'_Ah shit._'

"Sands . . ," she began, careful to take deep, calming breaths. "Tell me who you think I am."

"Don't play mind games with me, perra," he warned, "Especially with someone whose day has been as fucked up as mine has."

From the doorway of the guestroom, Lynné saw signs of life coming back to her partner. Liam groggily propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head to rid himself of the dizziness that had clouded his mind. Suddenly, his senses fell back into focus when a young woman about to undergo strangulation caught his attention. Without pausing to think, Liam sprung to his feet.

**_How sweet. . . He's_** **_playing the hero and rescuing the damsel in distress._**

'_Piss OFF. The last thing I need is this right now. I've got everything in my control._'

**_Control?_** the voice snorted, **_Yeah, you've got greeeat control. Whatever you say, honey_**.

Quickly shooting Liam a warning look, Lynné once again devoted her attention to her brother. Closing her eyes, she desperately searched her mind for a way out of this. He still looked puzzled, though he didn't take another step towards them, so Lyn assumed he got her drift. Inhaling heavily, she let her breath escape through her lips. She was suddenly reminded with a line from a play:

'_Here is the key to existence. Are you all listening? Always . . . breathe. It's the basis of life, breathing. It's basically the basis. If you don't breathe . . . you die.'_

**_Yeah, which is exactly what's going to happen to YOU if you don't do something! Quit quoting Durang and get your rear in gear!_**

She was suddenly drawn out of her mental quarrel when she realized that Sands was talking to her. He was toying with her mind, that she knew, and if she had been any other girl he would have had her right where he wanted her. However, the fact that she WASN'T any other girl was what made all the difference. She was his sister, she had grown up with him and had a decent idea of how his mind worked. And he needed to be reminded of that.

"Sands," she cut off his threats, much to his annoyance, "I need you to listen to me, all right? Just hear me out."

Her brother didn't say anything, but merely increased his grip on her throat. His anger seemed beyond words. Lynné took in another breath and began.

"My name is Beatrice Lynné Sands, I used to work for the Central Idiocy Agency before they screwed me over, and I'm your darling little sister, savvy?"

- - -

_Aaaaand I Think That's Where I'm Gonna Leave Off. Mwahaha . . . Cliff-Hanger-Ness Is Maddening, Is It Not? I Think So, Anyway. In Any Case, Hope You're All Enjoying This And I Also Hope I'm Managing To Keep Everyone In-Character. If Anyone Has Any Suggestions, Let Me Know! I'm Open For Advice, Merci. ._


	5. Unwanted Visions

**The Long Way Home**

By

E. S. Young 

**Chapter Five**: Unwanted Visions

Wow . . . five chapters already . . . .and if my evil computer hadn't decided to be so darned uncooperative, there would probably be even more than that. But still!! I'm on a role with this, I really am. I just hope I don't contract writer's block or, as I prefer to call it, 'Mort Rainey Syndrome.' . If you've read the book or seen the movie 'Secret Window,' you'll know what I'm talking about.

- - -

'_Beatrice_' . . . . '_BEATRICE'_ . . . !? If he were still capable, Sands would have blinked in surprise. What . . . WHO . . . Who the hell was '_Beatrice_?' He didn't know anyone by that name . . . . he was certain he didn't . . . yet . . . the name rang a bell. It was distant, faint, but somewhere way back in the depths of his mind, a bell went off at the sound of that name. However, some stupid bell's ringing didn't tell him who the hell 'Beatrice' was.

Whoever she was, she was starting to grow heavy. At first she hadn't seemed to weigh anything, but now . . . Sands arms were shaking with overexertion. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep up his vice grip for long. Damn blood loss . . . Damn cartel . . . Damn that bitch . . . At the very thought his energy seemed to have renewed itself. Clenching his teeth, Sands intensified his hold on . . . what's-her-name. 'Beatrice.' But . . . wait a moment, wait a moment . . . she had said something after that.

. . . . _Beatrice. . . _

No . . . it couldn't be . . . that would be all the proof anyone would need if they wanted to prove him crazy . . .

_. . . Lynné . . . _

Ajedrez's face was still clear in his mind. As clear as if . . . if instead of being blinded . . . someone . . . some sick fuck had only taken a picture of the bitch and then plastered it over his eyes.

. . . _Beatrice Lynné . . . _

_**SHIT!!!**_

Sands dropped Lynné so suddenly he could tell she wasn't ready. He picked up her startled 'Oof!' but he didn't make any response. Raising a hand to his temple, Sands staggered backwards, lost in the complete and utter shock at what he had just done . . . or had been about to do.

**_Smooth move, jackass. Tell me, d'you think you're gonna get a prize for killing _BOTH _of the people you ever cared about in one day?_**

'_Shutup!Shutupnow!_' Sands thought frantically, running his fingers through his hair. '_I . . . Oh Christ . . .I could've _KILLED_ her . . ._'

**_Huh. Guess I was wrong. I never thought of the possibility of _YOU _killing _HER_._**

"Are you alright?" Liam had rushed to her side and was looking at her with wide, concerned eyes.

"Fine, fine . . ." Lynné murmured, distracted. She tried to get to her feet, but it proved rather difficult due to the fact that her partner's hand remained glued on her shoulder. Covering up her annoyance with concern, Lynné shrugged off his grip as politely as she could.

'_That could've gone . . . ._'

**_Worse? Better? Care for a tip or do you think you're a big girl and can do it allll yourself?_**

'_Come on.' _Despite herself, Lyn responded to the voice. '_You and I both know that I'm too fucking proud to ever accept help from anyone. _'

**_Which, need I remind you, is _EXACTLY_ why you're still in _MEXICO_ after . . . how long has it been? Three years? Three _YEARS_, Lynnie? And you're still sitting on your arse in _MEXICO_ — _**

'_Still in Mexico, yes,_' she mused silently, '_but I wouldn't say I've been sitting on my ass. I'm pretty much the cause of the major revolution that went down today, aren't I?_'

**_Mmmhmm_** the voice agreed, **_And you're also the cause of Sands' sudden . . . loss._**

Lynné scowled inwardly and managed to put the mute button on her inner voice for the time being. She looked over at her brother and saw that he had managed to find the bed and sit down on it, despite how much it must have hurt to bend his legs. His head was bowed and hidden in his hands. This look didn't suit him, not at all. Like this, he gave off the air of a man who had been utterly defeated, and he seemed older that he really was, much older.

Seeming to have come to a decision, Lynné stood and silently left the bedroom.

- - -

This was awkward. This was really awkward. Liam shifted nervously, stealing a glance out the bedroom door, hoping to see a sign of Lynné's return.

'_I can't believe – wait. Yes, I can. It's perfectly understandable to forget there are other people in the room if you were so close to being killed. And it's perfectly understandable for Lynné to just up and leave with no other explanation. So why am I surprised? _'

Liam didn't expect anyone to answer his silent question. After all, it wasn't like he was schizophrenic or anything. And he wasn't imaginative enough to have the things artistic people called 'head-voices.' He had grown up with his respectable family in a quaint little God-fearing community who frowned upon weirdoes. Liam had been a nice little, honor-achieving boy who had matured into a polite, intelligent man, and people liked him, even if he did tend to be a bit . . . nervous, skittish, uneasy. But being in the CIA was slowly helping him overcome that.

'_Then why did I --_' He couldn't said 'faint.' He just couldn't. '_. . . lose myself . . . back . . . back there?_'

He switched his gaze from the door to the hunched over man on the bed. As much as he hated himself for it, he was grateful that Sands could no longer see the panic-stricken looks Liam was giving him. If he could have, Liam knew Sands would have thrown some sharp, sarcastic remark his way. And that he, Liam, would not know how to answer it.

Well, wouldn't anyone want to gag right after seeing . . . something . . . something like . . THAT? He suppressed a shudder as the haunting image tried to flood his mind. It nearly succeeded, but surprisingly he was able to dam it in time. Only years of living with Lynné could make that possible for someone as edgy as him.

- - -

Well, that was it. Those who Sands had let past his cold exterior had left the scene. The two people that had ever gotten past the barrier . . . were gone. One dead, one soon-to-be leaving, but either way they were both gone. There was nothing he could do now. Yeah, he could go out and shoot a few people, but what would that solve? The damage had been done; it was beyond repair now . . . just like his eyes . . .

**_Oh, GOD, don't go getting all depressed on me,_**his inner-voice groaned. **_You're no fun when you're angst-y._**

'_Oh, so sorry,_' his thoughts spat sarcastically, '_I didn't stop to think about how YOU might feel. How could I've been so selfish?_'

**_Well, you were, y'know,_** it chided thoughtfully. **_If you hadn't been so caught up in your little 'Death to the Bitch' plan, then you would've realized it was Lyn you were trying to choke. And . . ._** the voice added maliciously, **THAT _little fiasco wouldn't have even occurred if you hadn't been so set on 'restoring the balance,' as you like to say. And, if you hadn't been blinded by Ajedrez's so-called love for you . . . you wouldn't have been blinded at all._**

Sands was silent for a moment, then:

'_Or maybe . . ._' he ventured, '_that was you doing everything . . . and I was just watching from the sidelines._'

**ME_?_** the voice snorted, sounding shocked. **_Don't kid yourself. You know how you always have to be in control of everything, even your own mind. Trust me, Sheldon,_** it said, using his hated first name, **_despite how insane you are . . . it was allll you._**

Sands cursed softly under his breath, not caring if Liam -- he knew he was still there; he could hear him – heard him or not. He had lost everything, and the fact that he no longer possessed the sense of sight was just an added bonus. Everything was gone; he was past the point of caring now.

'_No! No fucking way. There isn't a snowball's chance in Hell that I'd turn into some desolated, angst-ridden_ _a --_'

Something warm and damp was gently being pressed to his face. Sands flinched reflexively. Whatever it was stopped and drew back.

Lynné withdrew her arm when she saw Sands wince at her sudden presence. He hadn't felt her sit down beside him on the bed. Carefully, she reached out and touched his shoulder, the one that hadn't been shot.

Sands stiffened slightly at her touch, but did not move away. He recognized her palm when he felt it. Lynné's hands were like her, in a way: Smooth and cold. It wasn't exactly comforting, but he wasn't looking for comfort at the moment.

Slowly, Lyn picked up the warm washcloth she has retrieved from the bathroom and gently began to clean the blood from Sands' face.

"Liam left," she told him quietly.

"I know," Sands said, picturing her raising her eyebrows at this statement. "I heard him."

"Oh," was all she said.

"Just for my own benefit," Lynné asked a moment later, "did you mistake me for Ajedrez?"

He turned towards her sharply, but said nothing.

"The only time I ever heard you actually speak Spanish was when you were talking to her, and even then you only used it to call her by pet names," explained Lyn as she continued to dab the cloth against his face. Every time he felt it pain went through him, throbbing in the back of his head. However, the cloth was warm and he was freezing, so . . .

"Yeah," he admitted, "yeah, I did think you were her. Tell me . . . are you always right?"

"For the most part," smirked Lyn. She reached up to brush a few strands of his silky, dark brown hair out of the way when her fingers brushed across his forehead. She stopped short and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. It was dangerously hot, not to mention the only part of him that was relatively warm. The rest of Sands, she realized, felt nothing short of ice.

"Shit . . ." she muttered.

"What?" Sands asked casually, although he already had a pretty good idea.

"Why didn't you tell me you were freezing?" she demanded.

Sands merely shrugged, an action that only added to Lynné's mounting annoyance.

**_Oh my Christ, all men are the _SAME_,_** the voice in her head fumed, **_Arrogant, stubborn, and stupid as Hell._**

Lyn narrowed her eyes. For once she and that irritating voice were on the same terms.

"Get into bed, mister," she ordered sternly.

- - -

The thing about dreams was you either remembered them, you had vague flashes of the things they had held, you remembered having them but not what they had been about, or you didn't remember them ever occurring at all. Unfortunately for Sands, he had a photographic memory.

Dreams weren't a rare thing for him to have, however. Although . . . perhaps 'dream' wasn't the correct word to use. Especially since he never seemed to be able to wake up from one and not be coating in a cold sweat.

This one, however . . . he could've almost considered it a dream. Almost. It was strange. Strange in the sense that he had had ones like it before, but strange because he hadn't had one like this in a long time . . .

He had thought his nightmares would have contained the sound of drills whirring, Barillo's mangled face, and Ajedrez's horrible smile, but no. In this dream he was a kid again. About the same age as the kid who had helped him out, actually; around eight or so. What was odd was . . . there he was . . . as a little kid . . . sitting on a chair, looking around as if waiting for something. Yet, he was his present-day self and he was just sort of . . . standing on the sidelines, watching his eight-year-old self wait.

Sands was starting to grow impatient and, apparently, so was his younger-self. The eight-year-old boy had crossed his arms, leaned back in the chair, and adapted a bored look that Sands was all too familiar with. It was the look Lynné wore whenever people pissed around but never got down to business, and it was the look he wore whenever he was kept waiting.

'_And vice-versa,_' he though absentmindedly.

Finally, just when he was starting to wonder what would happen if he just up and left, a woman entered the scene. Sands had to check twice to make sure she wasn't his sister, for the woman was almost an exact replica, save for a few deliberate differences. For one thing, she was about an inch taller than Lyn was, and she seemed older, too, like a Lyn in her late thirties. But the things that stood out the most were her eyes. They were not the dark, intense brown of Sands or his sister's eyes, but a frosty blue. Even though she wasn't his sister, he knew who she was nonetheless. She was, if possible, the first person he has learned to trust, Lyn being the second, Ajedrez being the third. And like the third, she was dead. Although, she appeared very much alive when she picked up his eight-year-old self, set him on her lap, and spoke.

"Hi, sweetie . . ."

Younger Sands simply looked up at her, but after a moment, he smiled slightly and allowed himself to rest his head on her shoulder. Sands sighed, but then, he realized, at the same moment the kid had sighed as well. The woman looked down at him curiously.

"What's wrong?"

"I was stupid . . ." Sands found himself saying. And even though his younger self hadn't said a word, and the woman didn't look over at him, she seemed to have heard what he said.

"How?" she asked gently. "How were you stupid?"

"I didn't see it coming," he admitted. "I got too cocky for my own damn good and then everything fell apart."

The woman said nothing but merely stroked the little boy's hair, nodding slightly. Sands took this as a sign to continue.

"And then . . . her."

"'Her?'" asked the woman, sounding slightly intrigued.

"A girl," he explained offhandedly. "It was nothing . . ."

The woman's face was disbelieving, though she still did not look over at him. Annoyed slightly, Sands continued.

"No . . . not nothing. There WAS something. And y'know what the worst part was?" He laughed humorlessly. "I trusted the bitch. I allowed myself trust and was blinded by it. And now –"he gave another cold laugh, "– I really am blind."

Sands looked up at the woman for a fraction of a second before continuing.

"So, yeah, I was stupid. I was a dumb ass. A fucking, arrogant dumb ass who got what was coming to him."

The woman sighed softly and held the little kid closer to her.

"Oh baby," she murmured sadly, "why do you beat yourself up like this?"

"I don't know," Sands said quietly, and in all truths, he didn't. This was unlike him, VERY unlike him. True, he was as unpredictable as they come but this didn't make any sense. HE at least always knew what he was doing but now . . . he didn't have a fucking clue.

Sands looked up at the woman again and, to his mild disbelief, he saw that she was staring directly at him. But it wasn't the woman now, though the person in her place bore a remarkable resemblance. She looked younger, about an inch shorter, but the most distinguishable difference was her eyes. They were not the cold, icey blue the other woman's had been. They had melted into a dark, nearly black color of brown. He could only remember knowing three people (okay, now it was down to two) with eyes that dark, though he was sure there were others. But the only people that stuck out in his mind besides himself were his father – and eyes were the only thing they shared in resemblance – and his sister, whose visage was uncannily similar to his.

Sands did not know how long he looked into her eyes, only that the moment didn't last very long. Soon the eyes lightened and turned into more of a honey-brown color. Her hair lengthened and curled slightly, changing from dark to light, reddish-brown. And then, her skin darkened. Instead of the pale peachy color Lyn's s skin bore, it had morphed into the light tan of Ajedrez's. And there the bitch was, sitting before him with his younger self on her lap.

Before Sands could react, she had disappeared, only to be replaced by a figure that he was certain would haunt his dreams for quite a while: Barillo's bandaged face leered down at eight-year-old Sands, whose large brown eyes widened in horror. Sands made to run towards them, intending to do nothing more than bash what was left of the drug lord's face in, but something was holding him back.

He whipped around.

And there was the good doctor himself. Fuck that. He was no doctor. He was just some sick bastard who got his enjoyment from watching other people suffer. Even Sands couldn't find much pleasure in that. Guevera smiled evilly up at him and raised his hand. In it was the thing Sands had been dreading. Oh he knew it was coming, but that didn't stop him from fearing it.

The silver drill glinted in the light, its blades held stationary for the time being. He knew that wouldn't last long. And before he knew it, he was screaming. So was his younger self.

Sands looked over and saw that Barillo was holding the boy down while Ajedrez approached him with yet another drill. He was so caught up in watching them that he didn't notice Guevera moving towards him. That is, until he felt it. The nonstop spinning of the drill in his head as it slowly turned his eyes to jelly.

It wasn't as painful as when it had happened the first time, when he had actually had his eyes ripped from their sockets. During that time he had known right then and there that nothing could be more painful than that. Not having your legs cut off right underneath you, not even being burned alive.

Just when Sands thought he couldn't take reliving the Day of the Dead one more time, he awoke with a start. Or at least . . . he thought he had woken up. For some reason he couldn't open his eyes. He looked around, trying to find out where he was but it was useless. Everything was dark.

This didn't make any sense . . . Why, WHY wasn't he able to do something as simple as open his eyes? He had been doing it all his life, why should now be any different?

Panting slightly, Sands reached out in front of him to find out if he could see his own hand. No dice.

'_What . . . where – why can't I . . .? _' he thought wildly, frantically waving his hand in front of him and disparately trying to see it.

Ajedrez's last words to him rang in his head.

_See anything you like . . . ?_

'_No . . ._'

Somehow an old picture had managed to find its way into Sands' mind amid all the confusion. The people in the photo were all the wrong age. He had been eight and Lyn had been three when it had been taken, but now . . . in the picture they were no longer children, yet the woman who stood between them hadn't aged at all. Of course she didn't look any older, she was dead, after all.

The first person he had ever trusted . . . that was the last thing to enter Sands' mind before he turned over, and lost consciousness once again.

- - -

_Well, That Would Be The End Of Another Chapter, Guys. Thanks For Reviewing, I Appreciate It! . And I Am Hoping To Have A New Chapter Up Either By Wednesday Or Next Sunday At Least! R&R, Merci._

_Oh, Oh! And One More Thing. I Forgot To Mention This At The End Of The Last Chapter. Ahem. That Quote About Breathing? Y'know, 'If You Don't Breathe, You Die?' Yeah. That One. I Must Give Credit Where Credit Is Due, So, That Quote Is From 'Laughing Wild' By The Brilliant, Yet Eccentric Christopher Durang. It's VERY Funny So Go Out And Find It If You Can! _


	6. Shooting Blind

**The Long Way Home**

By

E. S. Young 

**Chapter Six**: Shooting Blind

This chapter is going to be a little different. Different in the sense that, instead of continuing with the story, we'll be going backwards. . o.o It's crucial to the story itself, however. Really, I don't think the story would make much sense if I DIDN'T write this chapter. Besides, it's not like all of chapter seven will be taking place in the past. It sorta flips back and fourth, as you shall soon see.

- - -

God, it was dark. REALLY dark. And aggravating. Really dark and really aggravating, that pretty much summed up the position. WHY did the CIA always want them to practice in the dark?

'_Because it's good training for when you're out in the real world_,' a small voice mocked.

Oh yes. The company wanted to keep you on your toes and always ready for anything. The rule was to keep perfectly quiet, while still managing to look normal, and wait for someone to slip up. One single movement, one sound could give a person away.

Oh and there it was.

Quicker than anything, in one smooth motion, a shot was fired. When the bullet hit its target, there was a resounding thud. But there was not time to pay attention to that. Another one had shown up.

Ducking, jumping, sprinting were all very difficult to do while trying to fire a gun, but a person can manage. And here was the proof: All of the targets had been hit, and in total darkness, too. However, one cannot assume that just because they've done well so far, that it's all over. You're never out of the woods until you reach the edge of them, and even then you still have to keep your guard up. You must always keep your senses alert. That was one of the main rules in the CIA. Made sense. And if one of your senses happened to desert you, the other ones had better make up for it, 'else, you're screwed.

Another sound, a few more shots. Oooh, right through the head, definitely. Ahhh, there was another one . . . these fuckers just didn't know when to quit, did they? Oh well. Their loss. Just point the gun, make sure your aim is right, and pull the trigger. Then, you listen for the person to scream in agony as the bullet pierces their skin, shoot them again, wait for the sound that tells you their body has hit the ground, then shoot them one more time, just to make sure they're dead . . .

"Sands!"

Oh, come on . . . not now . . . a few were still alive.

"_Sands_!"

Tearing off her blindfold, Lynné Sands whipped around to face her boss, i. e., an agent who was higher up than her, therefore making him her 'superior,' which basically told him to feel free and order her around. Fuck that. This guy may be higher up on the food chain than her, but he had a boss too, and fortunately, THAT particular boss was head of the CIA and he almost never had a problem with the way Lynné did her job. Almost.

"What?!" she demanded, giving him a fierce glare. The man was nervous, and he just managed to hide it.

"I think you got 'em, Lynné," he told her, motioning to the cardboard figures whose torsos were now sporting several holes. Suddenly, a new target shot up out of nowhere. Lynné, not even looking to see if her aim was right, fired. The cutout fell to the ground, a bullet hole going through its head. Lynné saw her so-called boss shift uneasily and she smirked.

"What is so important that you felt the need to interrupt my fun, Latch?"

"You've got a new assignment," he answered promptly. Lynné's eyebrows arched.

"Really," she said coolly. "Where, pray tell?"

"Ah, well . . ." There was that uncomfortable shift again. Lynné felt herself sigh mentally. While she always enjoyed her gift of unraveling even the strongest people, it sometimes toyed with her patience. Her outward appearance merely showed unlimited patience; that didn't make it true.

"Laaaatch," she said, using her light sing-song voice. "Where am I going to? Don't make me start singing."

He cleared his throat, buying for time. Clearly, he knew Lynné wasn't going to like her new destination.

"Well," he began, "it seems that the drug problem down south is getting a little out of hand –"

"Meaning sooner or later it'll be taken over by some drug lord," finished Lynné. "There're just two questions I'd like you to answer for me, think you can handle that, sweetie?" she asked in a falsely kind voice.

Latch's eyebrows contracted as he scowled at her.

"Yes," he grunted.

"Good." She grinned. "Now, question one begins as thus: Who is this soon-to-be-all-powerful drug lord?"

"A man by the name of Armando Barillo, ring a bell?"

"Nothing's a'ringing, Latch, except that that name sounds Spanish," Lynné replied cheerfully. "On to my next question. Where exactly is this drug lord gaining his power?"

'_Though I think I might have just answered my own question._'

Latch cleared his throat again before answering, "Cullican, Mexico."

It didn't take very long for his words to sink in, however, Lynné remained silent for a moment. Mexico? _Mexico_?? She didn't even _speak _Spanish, for Christ's sake! What the hell were these bastards thinking assigning her to Mexico? Soon, Lynné became lost in her own thoughts, blocking out everything else. She was so deep in concentration, that Latch didn't want to interrupt her with the other part of her mission.

"Uh, Lynné?" he asked cautiously.

"What?" she snapped.

"That's not all I was supposed to tell you."

"Well, Latch, I hate to sound pushy," said Lynné, turning her back to him and raising her gun, "but I have a few more cardboard cutouts to 'decorate,' so if you don't mind . . . get on with it, or fuck off."

"You're getting a partner."

Lynné didn't respond, instead she remained frozen with her gun pointed at one of the cardboard figures she had been using as target practice. The things were supposed to spring out at you unexpectedly and you were supposed to shoot at them. Simple enough. Only thing was, you were blindfolded the entire time.

Sighing, she turned back to her 'boss.'

". . . .could be worse," she said reasonably. "After all, it's not like they're gonna stick me with a rookie or anything."

At these words, Latch preformed his nervous shift again.

"Uhh, yeah . . . about that . . ."

- - -

'_Partner . . . PARTNER!?_' she thought wildly. What did those bastards take her for? Lynné Sands was not something to be taken lightly, and the CIA knew this.

**_Which is, more than likely, why you're ass is being sent of to --_** the voice snickered with mirth **_-- Mexico??_**

Lynné stormed through the office, paying no mind to how anyone reacted to her sudden fury. Passing through the sliding doors of the entranceway, she strode out to the CIA's parking lot, intend of finding her car and making it back to her apartment without having to . . . take out her anger . . . on some unsuspecting person.

They were idiots. They were all complete morons and she had taken them for just that the moment she had set foot into the headquarters of the CIA. But this was a bit much, even for them. They were fools to think that they could send some rookie officer out to some goddamn town in Mexico and hope that they would both make it back alive. Now, if it had been a more experience person they were asking her to accompany, things might turn out differently. The worst her 'partner' would have come back to the States with was a missing foot or shattered nerves at the least. But at least they would have come back. This fuckmook rookie, a newcomer to the biz, would eat away at her self-control. Most of these bastards either thought they were always right for some reason, pushed others around, or kissed ass. For the most part, rookies usually had all three of these qualities rolled into one. And even on the off chance that this person _wasn't_ a stereotypical rookie, she still would not be able to cope with them. It just wasn't her. She never seemed to get along with most people. She could read them; they couldn't read her. Best to just keep things separate, and let everyone be.

Just as she had reached her small, silver Corvette, a tentative voice stopped her.

"Miss Sands?"

Oh God . . . not one of these little pricks who never called her anything but 'miss' of 'ma'am.' No way. If a person decided to call her that out of respect, okay, but she could not handle it if this guy was going to call her 'miss' all the time, not if they were supposed to go all the way to freaking Mexico together.

Turning around slowly, exasperatedly, Lynné Sands said calmly:

"The one. The only."

The young man before her grinned, relieved.

"My name is Liam Fusco, I'm sure Agent Latch told you already, but I'm your partner for the mission in Cullican . . ."

And he immediately plunged into their mission and how he hoped they would get along well since that was one of the main things about having a partner. But Lynné wasn't interested in this; it was all old news to her. After he had made certain that she wasn't going to shoot him, Latch had told Lynné everything she needed to know about her assignment and partner. Speaking of partner . . . he wasn't too bad. Not in looks, anyway. He was tall and slim with nice facial features. He had friendly blue eyes that made him seem anything but dangerous, unlike her, but she didn't like hair. Its dirty blonde color was okay, but the rest of it was too short. She would have to do something about that.

- - -

That was nearly four years ago . . .

Lynné lowered the book she was reading and looked across the living room at Liam, who sat in front of his laptop, typing away. He had indeed let his hair grow; it just brushed his shoulders now, though he hardly ever let it out of a loose ponytail. She had even goaded him into growing a small moustache and goatee to go with his hair. Now Lynné studied her partner intently. Yeah, an improvement had definitely been made. But he still liked to spend much of his time in the evenings on that damn computer. She sighed impatiently and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'll be done in a second," he told her, his eyes never leaving the screen. "This is –"

"Say important, and I'll break your fingers. And you can't very well play Solitaire like that, now can you?"

"For your information," Liam began, using a statement Lynné thought only girls used, "I'm not playing Solitaire."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then what are you doing, pray tell?"

"Talking to my brother," he answered distractedly, going back to his typing.

"That the one who's a doctor?" she asked. Liam had five brothers.

"Yeah, Adam."

"What field's he in again?" she wanted to know as she began to dive into her book again.

"Well, he's a surgeon," replied Liam uncertainly, who had never been to medical school like his partner. "Actually, he was telling me about this new thing he's been working on."

"Mmm," was all she said, then, "How's it coming?"

"Well, it's worked in all the animals they've tested it on so far."

Liam tossed an uneasy glance her way. Lynné had always hated animal testing, which was strange seeing how she never even flinched when she killed a person, whether she had to or simply on her own free will. That was the main reason Sands had rigged that bullfight he had gone to; he had only taken out bets to throw people off.

"Mmm," Lynné said again, once again engrossed in her book. Suddenly, she looked up.

"What's he experimenting with, anyway?"

- - -

_Mwahahaha . . . . I'll just leave it at that, being the evil person that I am. Hey, I have got Sands as a head-voice, after all. And I know Lyn's up there somewhere, as well. What did you expect?_

_'Where am I Going to?' is a song from the musical 'Evita.' I'm just borrowing it for this story cuz Lyn's the little show tune fan in my head. I think she gets it from me, actually. 9.6;_


	7. The Morning After

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Seven**: The Morning After

Jack-voice is mad at me. He seems to think that, since I now have a title for my PotC fic, I should get to work on IT. Oh, and I also had to hide his rum. Toulouse Lau-Trec-voice kept drinking it and he's already a more than a little tipsy from all the Absinthe he tends to drink. 9.9 But mostly he's mad because I haven't started on the PotC fic. Oh, and he and Sands-voice aren't the best of friends, if you catch my meaning, so that only worsens the situation. Nonetheless, Jack's just gonna hafta wait his turn, cuz I'm onna roll with this! =D

A/N: E. S. Young would like to note that that introduction had nothing to do with the story whatsoever but it was in her head so she had to get it out. Plus, she didn't know what to for an intro. Hopefully that won't happen again, for all our sakes. Thank you. u.u

- - -

When he woke up the next morning, Sands was met with an odd sound. It wasn't the buzzing of drills or a former girlfriend's voice. He had heard it before that he knew, but it still seemed new and different.

'_Yet annoyingly familiar,_' he thought cynically.

Still trying to place the sound, Sands gingerly propped himself up on his elbows, making sure to be careful with the left one. Vaguely wondering where he was exactly, he slowly began to review the events of the previous day. Most people in Sands' condition would have wanted to do anything but recall that year's Day of the Dead, but Sands was unlike most people.

'_Right, I was an idiot, I decided on that last night, no need to think about it now. . . . Good . . . cuz I'm not going to._'

**_Mmm . . . . but that doesn't mean I won't._**

'_Of course you will,_' he agreed silently. '_Well y'know what? Go ahead. Knock yourself out. I'm not gonna stop you._'

**_Can't even control the voice in your head?_** It tsked in disappointment. **_That's kinda sad, I mean, I _AM_ you, after all._**

'_You're a part _OF_ me,_' Sands corrected. '_There's a _DIFFERENCE_._'

The voice sighed in impatience.

**_And what part of you would _THAT_ – God, can't anybody do something about that goddamn tapping??_**

Sands' eyes would have lit with realization if they had not parted company with him. Tapping . . . Lynné tapped her fingernails, THAT'S why the sound had seemed so familiar.

**_And annoying. Don't forget annoying,_** the voice put in.

'_Yeah, but she only does it when she's worried,_' he reminded himself. '_Ah, shit. That can't be good. If I could only find out where the fuck she is . . ._'

**_You didn't seem to have any trouble locating sound sources _YESTERDAY_,_** said the voice snidely. **_How can now be any different?_**

'_Simple,_' he answered distractedly, '_I haven't had any coffee yet._'

**_Oh you're just hilarious, aren't ya?_**

Sands ignored the voice and cocked his head in the direction he thought the tapping was coming from. It was near a wall somewhere . . . possibly next to the window . . . no, right next to the window, right in front of it. No . . . that wasn't right. It was close, but it wasn't right. It was almost as if she was standing right outside the window. But that was stupid; the spare bedroom was on the second floor.

'_Oh Christ, don't tell me she's on the roof . . ._'

**_She is?_** the voice asked, failing to keep all of the excitement out of its words. **_Oh, good. Maybe she'll fall off._**

'_I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that._'

- - -

Lynné was indeed out on the roof. She had entered Sands' room early that morning, intending to check on his injuries. However, waking him up had proved difficult. Sands was sleeping so deeply, she doubted he had been able to hear her. But for once he looked completely relaxed amid the turmoil that had been going on since The Day of the Dead, so she let him be.

Deciding it was best to just wait until her brother woke up, Lyn began to pace the room, thinking rapidly. Somehow, she found herself out on the roof. She didn't remember how she got out there, quite frankly. She didn't even remember climbing through the window. All Lynné could remember was a class she had taken back when she was in training for the CIA.

It was the defense class. The only one she actually acted like she was paying attention in. The teacher was an older man, a former agent, as a mater of fact. He certainly knew his shit, Lyn had to give him that. The particular class that she was remembering went very well with the current circumstances she was having to deal with.

_'Know this,' _the professor had said_, 'always go for the eyes first. Just make sure the person you're fighting is blinded._

_'I don't care what the hell you use,' _he continued_, 'whether it be a knife, a drink, or dirt, it doesn't matter. Just **go for the eyes first**.'_

"Yeah, well, they did," Lynné said to herself with a light laugh that lacked in humor.

"They did what?" asked Sands as he carefully made his way through the window and onto the roof. If it had been anyone else, Lyn would have stared in disbelief, but instead she shook her head at him.

"No one," she answered his question. "Just . . . thinking . . . about the past, training, and all that jazz."

Sands sighed and leaned his head back against the house.

"What time is it?"

"'Round seven," she answered.

"Still planing on leaving?" Sands inquired.

Lynné smiled slightly.

"Always."

"So . . . are you going to?" He was looking right at his sister now, even though he couldn't see her.

"Perhaps," said Lyn carefully. "It all depends on how things . . . play out."

"Mmm . . . just make sure you know how to play the game. 'Else you could find yourself in a shit-load of trouble."

Lyn quirked an eyebrow and leaned closer to him.

"Believe me, dear, I know how to play."

"Well good for you," he snapped sarcastically and then went back to leaning against the house, brooding.

Lynné closed her eyes and sighed quietly. This was going nowhere, absolutely nowhere. And she was growing tired of sitting and waiting and nothing else. If Sands was trying to make a point of something . . .

". . . . . I'm sorry, Lyn . . ." Sands murmured quietly.

Lynné leaned forward to get a better look at him, while she herself looked startled.

"Pardon?" she breathed.

"I said . . . I'm sorry, all right?" Sands said, sounding slightly aggravated.

"I'm sorry, Lyn," he said once more. "About everything. About not getting you out of here, about being a dumb ass and landing you with MY fucking problems, about . . . the mistaken identity."

"Oh," Lyn said softly, sounding bemused and perplexed. It was a strange combination of feelings for her to have. "Well," she said after a moment, "I'm not going to say you shouldn't be, just that I'm . . . a little astonished."

Sands smirked a little.

"Yeah . . . y'know, I think you're the first person I've said that to in at least . . . what, twenty years?"

"Probably longer," replied Lyn, nodding. "It's probably just the painkillers I had to give you."

Sands sat up and turned to the sound of her voice.

"You gave me painkillers?"

"How the hell else d'you think you were able to climb through the window?" she asked calmly.

"Oh," he said, leaning back and looking slightly confused.

Lyn was somewhat surprised that her brother didn't seem more, well, pissed that he was once again hopped up on meds. The pills she had given him were certain to make him a little unfocused, which was the last thing he wanted at the moment. So why wasn't he a little more –

'_Mmm, that'll be the painkillers,_' she mused silently, realization dawning on her.

". . . so, yeah, it's definitely the painkillers," Sands was saying. She hadn't even noticed he had been talking. "Which is good, cuz I was starting to get worried."

"Right, right," agreed Lyn, staring out into the sky. The sun had just risen. "Wait, you mean . . . you were worrying about yourself, right?"

"Yes," he replied, looking at her curiously. "Why?"

"No reason," she said, standing up carefully and dusting off her jeans. "Just shows me that your charming interior hasn't changed that much."

"Implying that it HAS changed?" he queried.

"Did I say that?"

Before he could demand to know what she meant, Lynné had slipped her thin body through the window, and left the room.

- - -

"Adam?" Liam asked hurriedly as he held his cell phone up to his ear.

On the other end, his older brother ran his hands through his short, light brown hair, confused.

"Liam, calm down, you weren't making any sense last night . . ."

"I know, I know," said Liam quickly, wanting to get to the point. "My laptop froze up and then I lost the connection entirely, but I need to ask you. –"

"What?" Adam demanded, then he quickly added, "I don't mean to offend, but I have a lot of patients waiting –"

"I know, I know you do. Listen," Liam began, "you know that new treatment you're working on?"

"Why wouldn't I?" his brother asked, perplexed.

"You said it's been successful so far, right?"

"Well, yes, but only on the animals," Adam admitted.

"Have you tried it on any –"he swallowed hard "—humans yet?"

His brother paused for a beat, then said:

"No, not yet. Why?"

"If I could get you a volunteer, would you be willing to?" Liam asked without any hesitation.

Adam blinked. The Mexican heat must have gotten to his brother's head. Either that, or he really did have a person willing to undergo the surgery.

"Sorry, but I've already got someone lined up," he told Liam truthfully.

"Oh . . ." said Liam, disappointed. "Well, when is you're patient scheduled to have the surgery?"

"Monday."

"Today's Saturday . . ." Liam muttered more to himself than Adam. "Okay, listen, could you phone me and tell me how it turns out?"

"Um, sure," Adam agreed uncertainly.

"Good," said Liam, "I don't want to tell her until I'm certain."

"'Her?' Liam, where did you find a blind woman?" Adam demanded.

"No! _She's_ not . . ." He waved his hand, exasperated. "It's her _brother_."

"Oh," said Adam, "but there IS a 'her,' then?"

"Yes," answered Liam tiredly, "but it's not like that, if that's what you're thinking –"

"Who's thinking anything?" Adam asked innocently.

"Adam –"

But he never finished. At that moment, Liam saw two black cars pulled up in front of the house. Four men all dressed in black stepped out of the vehicles, each armed with a gun.

Reaching for his own pistol, Liam called up the stairs:

"Lynné!!"

"I know!" she yelled back. "Get ready!"

He heard the distinct sound of the safety being taken off a gun and then there was silence. Quickly scanning the kitchen and then the living room, he tried to see if there was any evidence that showed that he was housing two CIA agents, one of whom had been presumed dead for nearly three years. Nothing. No, there was nothing that held the slightest hint that more than one person resided under the roof of the Mexican-style house. Which was exactly as Lynné wanted it. She had planned this, Liam realized, she knew that she couldn't keep hiding for ever, and that one day the CIA would show up on their doorstep, whether it was collect her or not.

The doorbell rang, and then a knock followed.

And there they were. The CIA. The Central Idiocy of America, as his partner had always called it. Liam smiled at the thought of Lynné and her knack for thinking up nicknames that fit so well with things even if they were slightly disrespectful.

Trying to put on his calmest, most innocent face, Liam slipped his small gun into his pants (a habit he had picked up from Sands) and answered the door.

- - -

_Hah, this thing's just full of cliff-hangers, isn't it? If you agree with me, then good! I'm doing my job well, then. As always, tell me what you think, thanks for giving this story a chance, and please await the next chapter. Merci beaucoup. _


	8. When Old Friends Come A'Callin'

**The Long Way Home**

By

E. S. Young 

**Chapter Eight**: When Old Friends Come A-Calling

I've been thinking . . . . . in that last chapter, did it seem like Sands was getting a little out of character? I'm not sure, that's why I'm asking. Same thing goes for Lyn. I know she's a new character and it's not like she really _can_ be OOC because I could always say 'Oh, that's how I want her to act,' but I don't really wanna hafta say that. .;; She pretty much is the female equivalent of Sands, so that's why I'm asking about her as well. But, y'know, I think she would be a little bit more compassionate (strong word to use when discussing these two, I know) than her brother simply because she's a girl and she's younger and she hasn't been completely corrupted yet. Albeit, Sands _did_ say in the first chapter that there's a decent chance that her mind has already been tainted. O.o Oy vey . . .

- - -

"Agent Fusco," a tall, sinister agent acknowledged, nodding.

"Agent Miller," greeted Liam. The fact that he recognized one of them seemed to be the signal they were waiting for. As soon as the words left his mouth, two members of the small troop of agents walked past Liam without so much as a hello, and entered the house, one staying in the living room, the other heading off towards the kitchen. Taking his eyes away from them, Liam asked with false surprise, "What are you doing in this part of Mexico?"

"We're here on important business and I advise you do not stand in the way of it."

Once he began tuning Miller out, Liam took notice of the stern, no-nonsense faces of his fellow agents. Small yet muscular Conrad had accompanied Miller, along with powerfully built Bradley, whose seemingly unlimited height could only make Conrad appear shorter. They were the two who were now ferreting through his home as if they owned the place. Then there was Baronn, the only female of the bunch -- Liam tried not to laugh at the thought of calling these four that; it didn't fit if you were addressing the quartet of imposing CIA agents (all clad in neat, business-like attires, no less) as a 'bunch.' Even Baronn, who would have been rather attractive if she ever managed to rid herself of that steely look in her eye, was giving off a frosty air. It was strange to think of frost at a time like this . . . they were in Mexico, after all. Liam forced himself out of his little stupor when he realized that Agent Miller was informing him of something that clearly held a great deal of importance.

"I'm sorry, but could you repeat that?" Liam cut in, knowing that, if she could hear him now, Lynné would be slapping herself in the forehead and cursing him for not staying focused.

Miller looked piqued at being interrupted and even more disgruntled at the thought of having to repeat everything he had just said. Nevertheless, he started to speak again, only to be cut short by Baronn. She smiled icily at Liam.

"We're looking for Agent Sands."

Liam's eyes widened slightly, and the four CIA members all distinctly saw the blue orbs begin to mist over. Miller and Baronn exchanged confused looks. They knew this guy was a little bit. . .delicate. . . . . .but tearing up at the very mention of a person's NAME? Placing a hand to his mouth, Liam said in a horrified whisper:

"But . . . she's _dead_."

"Oh, for the love of – not _her_!" Baronn spat, waving an impatient hand at him.

"Oh . . ." he said softly, still looking deeply heartsick at the thought of his 'former' partner. "You mean –"

"Sheldon Sands, yes," sighed Miller, exasperated. "He was working with you, correct?"

"Well, we exchanged information," Liam half agreed.

"When did you last see him?" Baronn pressed on.

"Uhh, day before yesterday, I think."

"You think?" repeated Miller skeptically, "So you mean to say you don't know?"

"It's my estimate," Liam explained, not bothering to hide a glare.

Meanwhile, Conrad, who had been searching the living room, stalked up to Miller.

"Nothing here," he told him shortly.

"Not in here, either," announced Bradley, who came striding out of the kitchen.

"Welllll," began Baronn with feigned sweetness, "perhaps you could try the other rooms, hmm?"

Bradley and Conrad glared at her, but they weren't the only ones. Liam, sorely reminded of his partner's casual and sarcastic drawl, shot daggers from his eyes at her.

"What exactly are you looking for?" he asked with measured calmness.

"Why, I thought that would be obvious." Baronn blinked at him, her long eyelashes fluttering so much that they appeared blurred.

'_Probably the false, stick-on kind,_' he thought sourly.

"You think Sands is here?" asked Liam, his voice disbelieving. "Why?"

"We attempted to contact him once the rebellion in Cullican had begun," stated Miller, "but since his line was in the middle of being changed, that was impossible.

"Once the rebellion had died down a bit, we had someone try to call him again. But instead of Agent Sands answering the phone, we got some crazy lady instead."

Liam's eyebrows rose.

"Crazy lady?" he echoed.

"Yeah," said Miller impatiently, "actually, Latch – he was the one who called – said that it was at least four different women, but he thinks it might have just been the same person trying to throw us off."

"She _did_ throw us off," snarled Baronn. "Until we had that call analyzed, everyone assumed it wasn't the same person."

Liam swallowed and gave silent props to Lynné for successfully managing to confuse the company.

"You had the call traced, I assume."

Ohhh, he didn't like that smile on Baronn's face.

"Of course we did," she said pleasantly, "That's why we're _here_."

"Um, with all due respect, Meredith," Liam said, calling Baronn by her first name, "do I look like a woman?"

"You sound like one sometimes," remarked Conrad as he strode back into the scene. Liam glared. Okay, so his voice went up an octave or two when he was in a panic, whose didn't?

"To answer your question, Fusco," said Miller, boredom etched in his tone, "no, you don't look like a woman. But you may be housing one."

Liam's eyebrows went up.

"Really?" he asked, trying to sound surprised, interested, anything but guilty. "Well, as you already know my partner – former partner," he quickly amended, "is, um, dead –"

"We know that, Fusco!" Miller practically shouted, his voice caring throughout the house.

- - -

Upstairs, Lynné had to cover her mouth the stifle her laughter. Beside her, Sands smirked.

"Sounds like the rookie finally managed to irritate someone besides you."

"Yeah," Lyn agreed, nodding, and then, as if addressing Liam, she said, "You have learned well, young grasshopper."

Sands cocked his head in her direction.

"I didn't know you liked that movie."

"I don't," she responded, "I just quote it – wait a minute." She held up a hand to silence him. "That bitch . . ."

- - -

". . . personally, I always knew she'd end up the way she did," Baronn was saying. "She had it coming to her, really, after all the things she did. Killing all those people . . . I can't believe the heads of the company let her get away with that."

"Yeah, I – I know what you mean," agreed Liam not untruthfully. In all honesty, he couldn't understand why Lynné's badge hadn't been taken away from her, or why she hadn't been put in a psychiatric ward long before now. But he never wanted to see her sent to such a place, and here were these people, fellow agents, no less, tearing up a girl who they thought dead. It was downright disrespectful.

"Yeah, but she always was a bit of a manipulator," Miller put in.

"Bit of one?" asked Baronn with disbelief, "Jesus, that bitch could talk her way out of anything. And if that didn't work, she could always shake her ass or something, and they'd let her off, the slu—"

"Now, do you REALLY wanna finish that sentence, Meredith?"

All four of the CIA agents spun around to face the stairway, but Liam was the only one who was smiling. The remaining three gaped as the slender, fair-skinned, dark haired, gun-toting Lynné Sands was gracefully descending the steps with a falsely pleasant smile on her face and a small silver handgun in her hand.

"B-Beatrice –" Baronn sputtered, her darkly rimmed eyes wide with shock.

"Lyn," she informed the stunned Baronn, "or Lynné, if you like."

"They . . . I . . . told me you were dead," her fellow agent finished in a rush.

"Ah, well as you can see, I am very much alive." Lynné gestured up and down her body to express her point. "Unless I'm a zombie and don't know it, of course. D'you know if they've invented some kind of pill that'll do that yet?" she asked, looking mildly curious as if she wasn't intending to kill Baronn right after she had had her say. Lynné acted as though she and Baronn were having a nice conversation instead.

Baronn seemed to have found her voice; her heavily lidded eyes narrowed, but her ruby red lips twisted into a sneer.

"I see 'death' hasn't changed you. Still the same old bitch."

"Oh, Merie, you have WOUNDED me," Lynné gasped sarcastically, sounding pained and hurt. She then dropped the act and stared pointedly at the other agent. "You should really watch your mouth, my dear."

"Well," began Miller, while Baronn seethed in fury and Conrad just stood there looking both confused and stupid. Bradley had yet to return. "Since you seem to be very much alive and well, I suppose you won't mind answering a few questions?"

Lynné put her index finger to her chin and pretended to think.

"Yes, I suppose I would," she told him after a moment. Miller scowled. "Now, Merie," Lynné said as she strolled towards Baronn, "I'm in the middle of making a VERY difficult decision here. You see, part of me, the more violent part, is insisting that I cannot let you live having said what you said. However, the other, more cautious part is saying that I can't very well kill you with all of these other agents roaming all over my house." She shook her head and sighed. "Ohh, what to do, what to do. ."

Suddenly, she looked up, her dark eyes staring directly into Baronn's pale blue ones, her expression completely unperturbed by the situation.

"We could just compromise."

And with one lightly fast movement, her hand shot out and punched Baronn straight in the mouth. The woman was sent reeling backwards, her hands spinning in zealous circles as she tried in vain to keep herself erect.

"I told her to watch her mouth . . . Oh well."

Miller and Conrad both reached for their guns, but before they could react, Lynné had gotten to hers and shot the latter in the chest.

**BANG!**

Liam was sent flying into the couch as a bullet from Miller's gun went through his shoulder. Spinning around, Lynné aimed her gun in his direction, but saw that the man had already fled up to the safety of the upstairs. Lynné shook her head after him and said to Liam:

"Tell me, why does everyone think the safest place is upstairs whenever it looks like they're in danger?"

Her only answer was several short breaths from her partner and a motion to follow Miller.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there. Sands is upstairs, remember? You alright?"

Liam nodded vigorously and once again motioned for her to go upstairs.

"I'll . . . I'll get Bradley. . ." he gasped, his breath quickening.

She nodded once and then darted up the steps.

- - -

"What the fuck!?!" Miller cried as he laid eyes on the smug looking figure that was Sands. He was leaning up against the doorframe of the guestroom, his arms crossed, a gun held in his right hand. There were three spots where short, criss-crossed lines ran along his skin for a few inches; two of the stitches were in his legs, the other one was in his right arm. For some reason, Sands was wearing his sunglasses, which only increased Miller's annoyance for reasons he didn't know. Sure he was only wearing boxers (black ones with little marijuana plants on them, no less) but the sight was still a shock.

"Well, hello, Miller," Sands said cheerfully, "How's every little thing? And, according to Lynnie, I'm very accurate when I say little."

Miller's face contorted with fury; he knew very well what Sands was talking about and thought that Lynné had no right to tell her brother the details of their short-lived relationship.

He went for his other gun, the one that was full of tranquilizers, not bullets. The CIA wanted Sands alive and ready for questioning. This could be the chance they had been waiting for, the one he had been waiting for, at least. Many of his fellow agents agreed that both of them, Sheldon and his bitch of a sister deserved to go to mental hospitals or jail at the least. And this might be their chance. Miller pointed the gun straight at Sands' torso, he was ready to take him out.

Only thing was, Sands was quicker. He fired two shots at Miller's chest, knowing exactly where to aim. Smirking in triumph, Sands heard his fellow agent fall to the ground and was about to shoot him again, just to make certain he was dead, when suddenly –

If he still had eyes, they would have widened in surprise. Sands felt a rush of fire graze his side almost a second after Miller had crashed to the ground. Instantly, his hands flew to the area of pain, and when he pulled them back, there was no mistaking it, his long fingers were now tipped with blood. Not thinking twice, Sands lowered his gun to the spot where he had heard Miller fall, and fired.

- - -

Lynné's quick footsteps stopped about halfway up the stairs when she heard the distinct sound of two shots being fired and then, the sound of a body hitting the ground. Then, there was another, this one from downstairs. But it was soon followed by a third from upstairs again, and this one sounded as though it came from another direction.

Biting her lower lip, she continued her flight up the steps. Just like the night before, Liam was right behind her. His injured arm didn't seem to be slowing him down a bit, which would have surprised her if she hadn't been so worried.

"Did you get Bradley?" she asked hurriedly as she raced up the steps.

"Yes," panted Liam.

"Good. And Baronn's knocked out, and I'm certain Miller's in the same league as Conrad."

She stopped so suddenly that, like the night before, Liam crashed into her from behind. There before them lay the crumpled, bleeding, but clearly dead body of Agent Miller and in front of them stood Agent Sands, his right hand holding a gun, his left holding his side from which liberal amounts of blood was seeping. He looked up as he heard them come up the stairs.

"Lyn . . . ?" he asked weakly, his tone mingled with urgency and helplessness.

"Yes," she breathed, her face set with alarm.

Sands nodded slightly and staggered towards the sound of her voice. Once he reached her, he collapsed, and would have fallen down the stairs if Lynné and Liam hadn't grabbed him. Sitting her brother up against the wall, Lyn rested a cool hand against his forehead. It was livid with heat and his breathing was slow.

Liam looked down at Miller. He saw that the late agent held two guns and, on closer inspection, he saw that the one was loaded with tranquilizers, not bullets. Clearly, the CIA had wanted Sands alive. He looked over at his partner and saw that she was looking at the tranquilizer gun with the utmost hatred.

"Bastards . . ."

- - -

_Aww . . . poor Sands, but don't worry. Things'll pick up in the next chapter. Miller, Bradley, and Conrad may have gone to Davey Jones's locker, but Miss Baronn hasn't! =D And Lynné doesn't like her, as you'll soon find out. (reads what she just wrote) 'Davey Jones's locker!?! .O Bloody pirate head-voices . . ._


	9. Ice Returns

**The Long Way Home**

By

E. S. Young 

**Chapter Nine**: Ice Returns

Oh, wow. I can't believe I've written (checks again) nine chapters! Nine chapters already! =D This is, officially, my longest story yet. . And here I was worried that I could never write anything longer than a short story. Nah, I don't think this is gonna be one of those. There's still a lot that must get done in this story. I just hope things don't start to drag on. o.o;; Well, in any case, I'm glad you guys keep reading and reviewing. .

- - -

"Sit still, both of you," Lyn commanded impatiently. She was getting tired of having to sew people back together, and, from the looks of things, she was going to have to do it not one, but two more times. Make that three. The stitches in Sands' arm had pulled out.

"I wasn't gonna go anywhere," Liam said, putting up his hands defensively. Sands merely took in a sharp breath. He hadn't said anything since he had called out her name, and that worried her. Surely he would have had some smart remark to go with her command?

"Sands?" she asked quietly. He was sitting down and she and Liam had sort of propped him up against the wall in the hallway, by orders of Lynné, who thought it would be best not to move Sands around too much.

"Sands?" Lyn asked again. He nodded slightly, but made no other movement aside from the occasional wince. Sands' upper body was swaying slightly, the loss of blood having drained him of his remaining energy, leaving him weak and dizzy, two things he never wanted to be. Lynné looked down and saw that the wound in his side was bleeding more profusely than she thought.

"Sands, let me see that," she requested steadily. Liam was envious of how calm she was; it was almost eerie how imperturbable his partner could be at times.

Slowly, Sands moved his hand away from his bleeding side. Lynné let out a breath of relief. It wasn't as bad as she had thought, yeah, he had been shot but the bullet had just grazed his side, nothing more. What worried her most was the amount of blood gushing from the wound. Sands had already lost a decent quantity yesterday, but he had survived. Now, she wasn't so sure he would make it through the night.

**_He wont,_** the voice sneered gleefully. **_He won't and you know it, and when he's dead, you'll be allll alone. Aww, poor little Lynnie. Losing the people she ever loved, one after the other. Boy, luck doesn't seem to be on your side, does it?_**

'_That would be a 'hell no,'_' she snapped back silently, '_The only thing that pisses ME off, is the fact that, no matter how many people leave me, YOU can never seem to fuck off._'

**_Language, Lynnie,_** the voice scolded mockingly. **_Remember what you told Baronn about watching her mouth? Oh, speaking of which, she's downstairs, incase you forgot._**

'_I didn't forget, I'm merely preoccupied. So kindly, if you please, give me a moment and piss off. If you give me that, I'll put up with whatever you have to say when I'm done with this._'

**_Deal!_**

Lyn knew she was going to regret striking a bargain with the voice in her head, but at the moment she could care less. Sands was her main focus now, and, as much as she hated to admit it, the voice WAS right. He would not live unless she managed to get some blood into his system soon.

"I don't imagine you're blood is type B negative," she said to Liam.

He shook his head. "No."

"Damn it . . . ." Lyn cursed, then sighed. "All right. Guess we only have one option, then."

"You're going to rob a blood bank, aren't you? Lynné?" he asked urgently.

"Hell no," Sands retorted sharply, turning his head to give Liam a disgusted look. "There is . . . no way I am walking around . . . with some peon of Mexico's blood in me." He panted slightly and clutched the area where Miller's bullet had penetrated his skin again.

"Calm down, picky," said Lyn, rolling her eyes, "That wasn't what I had in mind."

"What were you thinking then?" asked Liam, looking interested.

Lyn's only answer was to lift a hand to her brother's forehead and place her other hand on his shoulder.

"Damn . . ." She took a breath. "Okay, you've definitely got a fever –"

"Great," Sands said sarcastically.

"Fermez la bouche," Lyn replied shortly, "And you're skin's clammy." She sighed. "Liam? Think you could get me a blanket or two and my medical kit?"

Her partner nodded and was off. Leaning his head back against the wall, Sands let out a sigh of pain but said nothing else. Lynné slid down the wall and sat down next to him, not really expecting to have a conversation, just hoping to be some sort of comfort to him.

**_Aww,_** cooed the voice that she alone could hear, **_Kodak moment!_**

'_Fuck off. Remember what I said about leaving me alone? I struck a deal, I struck a deal with the fucking voice in my head and it agreed that it would let me be until I had Sands taken care of. You're backing out on the deal, dear._'

**_Y'know, I often wonder why you've never given me a name,_** it said out of the blue, as it usually did whenever it didn't have an answer to her retorts.

'_Gee, I dunno. I guess I'm just not crazy enough,_' she thought with mock sadness.

**_Aww, thasso saaad . . . but it's okay, I forgive you, honey. Besides, you'll be completely crazy soon enough. I can see it now: You'll be in the middle of his big gunfight, right? You on one end of the street, and the enimy at the other and you'll both have guns pointed at each other. Kinda like one of those old Mexican standoffs, y'know? _**

'_Yeah, I know._'

**_ANYway, when you go to fire, instead of aiming your gun at the other person, you aim it at yourself! See, cuz I'LL be there, I'll always be there, and you'll be too busy arguing with ME to pay attention to whatever else is going on in the world. And it's during that gunfight, right then and there, that you finally lose it, and turn the gun on yourself._** The voice laughed under its breath. **_Heheh . . . bang._**

'_Yes, but if I die, then what happens to you, I wonder?_'

The voice was silent for a moment, clearly it hadn't thought of that.

**_I hate you._**

'_Now ya know how I feel, cupcake._'

"What was that crash I heard earlier?" Sands' voice came from far away, but it penetrated her thoughts nonetheless. Instantly, Lynné snapped to attention, a little angry with herself. She hadn't even realized he'd been talking. . . .

"Oh," she said faintly. "That would be Baronn. Bitch did a number on my fingers." At this, she looked down at her left hand and saw that already bluish-purple bruising was beginning to gather around her knuckles. "But I think the damage done to her was more permanent."

"Oh?" Sands asked, sounding somewhat intrigued.

Smirking in satisfaction, Lynné placed her hand in his. At first, he wasn't sure why she had done that. But then he knew. Carefully, Sands traced Lyn's hand, his long fingers looping over and under hers until they met with something that certainly wasn't human skin. It was hard, cold, and metal. A ring. If exhaustion hadn't decided to overtake his body, Sands would have laughed at his realization. Lynné's ring wasn't the fanciest piece of jewelry in the world. It was a simple silver band with miniscule flowers carved all around the outside of it.

"Where did you hit her?"

"Right in her makeup coated face."

Sands smiled as he thought of this. If Lyn's hit had been hard enough, and he was sure she did for he could feel the start of the bruises, Baronn's face would bear the markings of Lyn's ring for quite a while.

- - -

"Where the hell is Fusco?" Sands muttered to Lyn, not really paying any attention to her response. Now he was talking just to take his mind off the pain, which was slowly increasing with every breath he took. God, it was cold out. And this was fucking Mexico, for Christ's sake, it wasn't supposed to be this cold. It wasn't supposed to be cold at all. It was times like these Sands wondered why his mission couldn't have taken place in Alaska.

Unwillingly, he leaned against Lynné and rested his head on her shoulder. What did he care if she was annoyed or confused? He was fucking freezing and Lyn was the closest thing to heat he had.

'_Oh shit . . . I'm shaking . . .that can't be good._'

"Shit. . . . you're shaking," he heard Lyn curse more to herself than him.

Sands felt the back of her hand on his head once again and imagined her biting her lip in worry. For some reason, he didn't like it when she worried, he didn't mind when other people pissed themselves because they were so frantic, but the emotion didn't suit his sister at all. But assuring her that he was all right would be pure bullshit and she would know it, so it wouldn't do any good to say anything.

The footsteps were what brought Sands out of his musings. The sound was sudden, audible, and it echoed throughout the hallway. If it hadn't been for the painkillers Lyn had given him earlier, Sands was convinced that each footstep would send vibrating waves of agony straight through his head.

Lynné looked up to see Liam returning at last, weighed down with several blankets, a pillow, and a rather fancy first-aid kit. The blood that had stained his shirt was still flowing freely from his arm, but at a slow pace. Lyn cursed again knowing that there was another bit of stitchery she would be tending to later.

Liam spread out the blankets before Lynné and handed her the medical kit. She took the bag wordlessly. Carefully, Lyn eased Sands down onto the makeshift bed. Sands said nothing but let out a sharp hiss, his jaw clenched tightly in defiance.

"All right?" Lyn asked cautiously.

"Fine, fine," he answered, though his teeth were still gritted together. "Just . . . so fucking . . .

cold. . ."

She nodded in understanding. Shock was undoubtedly taking over Sands' body; of course he was cold. Without another thought, Lyn gently placed a blanket around his shoulders and sighed. It was the best she could do until she had him pieced back together. Looking down at him sadly, she picked up a needle and a spool of catgut thread, and got to work.

- - -

"Are you okay?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Do you know how to give a blood transfusion?"

"Yep."

". . . . .you DO know that you have a low enough blood count as it is, right?"

"I would hope that I do, yes."

"So you know that draining a pint of blood leaves a person rather . . . disoriented?"

Lynné said nothing and rolled her eyes.

"And that, having the meager amount of blood that you do, draining some could be fatal?"

"I wouldn't go as far as _fatal_," said Lyn thoughtfully as she set up a portable IV. "But, yeah, it'll leave me more than a little wacked-out, sure."

"Lynné . . ." Liam's blue eyes were pleading, almost desperate.

"Liam," she said, looking directly at him for the first time, "if you can give me another option, then I will cease in removing blood from my system. But may I remind you that there are bound to be more CIA agents out there looking for us, not to mention the remains of the cartel, and, to top it all off, I'm supposed to be dead. Now, if you know a way one of us can get out of this house and scurry off to the local hospital to steal blood, then fire away. If not, shut the hell up."

Liam stared at her for a long moment. Then, he turned his gaze to Sands, who was lying on the bed of the guestroom. After Lyn had finished with the stitches, she and Liam had been as careful as they could in transporting Sands from the hallway to the guestroom. Shortly after Lynné had begun her work on his injuries, Sands had fallen into unconsciousness. He had yet to wake up from this deep state.

And now Lyn was saying that he needed a blood transfusion or things could take a turn for the worse. Well, they would be a lot worse off than they were now. Liam swallowed hard and nodded to his partner. He knew that, once again, she was right.

- - -

Lynné sat slumped in a chair beside Sands' bed. Her brother was still asleep, Liam was standing near the end of the bed and kept throwing worried glances her way, and she herself had just drawn a pint of blood out of her body.

'_Stupid, Lyn, reeeally stupid. . .mmmyep. . ._'

Surprisingly, the voice in her mind didn't have anything to say about her recent (not to mention rash) actions. Oh well. Maybe it was actually following up on the deal they had made and was hibernating for a while. Or perhaps the voice, like her, was in a drunken state and didn't have the will or the energy to speak at the moment.

"Lynné?" Liam asked worriedly. "Lynné. . . ?"

"What?" she slurred, blinking blearily up at him. Wait, wait . . . since when did he appear twice whenever she looked at him? And he didn't used to hover around like that. . .

'_Ah, shit . . . I feel like I'm . . . stoned . . . ._'

"Lynné, I think you should lay down for a while," Liam was saying.

"I am laying down," she protested. "Okay, well, sitting down. . . same difference. . . and you're shoulder's bleeding again, did you know that?"

"What?" he gasped, craning his neck to see his shoulder, "B-but you fixed it . . . you stitched it up—"

"I never said I was an expert at sewin," Lynné told him with an unbalanced shrug. She was about to tell Liam that it was not big deal and that she would simply sew his arm back together, once her eyesight stopped going in and out of focus, of course. But she never had the chance. Before Lynné could say anything, Liam had moved over to the small mirror that hung above the dresser. Sure enough, there was a small trail of blood making its way slowly down his arm and onto his bare chest.

With a small gasp, Liam blanched at the sight of the red ooze, looking utterly terrified. His eyes rolled back into his head and suddenly he began to sway slightly. Without warning, Liam's feet gave out from beneath him and fell to the ground. It didn't take long before his body was down there with them, and before he ever met the floor, darkness had come and blocked out everything.

"Oh!" Lynné gasped, uncharacteristically startled (Liam feinting wasn't a new event). Swaying slightly, she grabbed each arm of her chair and heaved herself to her feet. She then began an unbalanced stagger towards partner, using the bed where Sands was sleeping as a stationary crutch.

"Oh don't tell me. . ." she muttered wearily.

Looking over the edge of the bed, Lynné saw that Liam had indeed fallen into a dead feint. She turned her head to Sands, who would probably sleep through the night and into the morning, and then turned back to Liam, who didn't look like HE would be waking up anytime soon, either. Sighing at the sight of the two unconscious CIA agents (not to mention Baronn , who was still out cold in the living room) Lynné gave a halfhearted shrug.

"Oh well . . .when in Rome . . ."

And with that, Lynné Sands promptly fell over onto the soft mattress of the bed.

- - -

_Huh. That turned out longer than I thought it would. . . . . how 'bout it. Anyway, stay tuned for bargaining, escape, and yet more dream sequences in the next installment! _

_Oh, and BTW to Dawnie-7 for your review of chapter four? I had to reply to that cuz I know what you mean! That's one of the main reasons I made Lyn his sister, cuz I figured that Sands would be a bit less . . . touchy. . . towards her than his is towards everyone else and that he wouldn't mind (much) if she were a bit nicer to him. But, yeah, right after I saw OuaTiM for the first time and was still in semi-shock that he had had his EYES ripped out, I was thinking 'Awww . . . poor guy . . .' However, Sands isn't really the kind of guy who warms up to people easily, unfortunately. But I'm glad you like my fic anyway . Same thing goes to everybody else, thanks muchly for reviewing!!! _


	10. Questioning People Questioning Dreams

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Ten**: Questioning People, Questioning Dreams

(harsh sigh) All right. -.- Since is being less than kind, what with not allowing my italics, bold, spacing, slashes, or pretty much any other kind of fonts or marks to work, I'm going to have to use substitutes in order to avoid confusing. (deep breath) SO . . . whenever a scene changes, where you would usually see: wavy line, star thingy, wavy line (I forget what they're called, sorry), instead you will see the words 'Scene One, Two, Three, etc.' And whenever Lyn or Sands is hearing the voice in their heads, instead of the usual double slash marks, there will be double quotation marks: ""something, something."" If you guys find it annoying, then you have no idea how irked I am at this sudden change. Why FFN suddenly decided to deprive me (as well as several other people) of italics and stuff like that I do not know. It's been like this since I came to this site and only now have my punctuation marks disappeared on me. Oh, and just as a warning, you guys have a dream sequence coming. D Can ya dig it?

**NOTE**: This was written before fixed their problem with the italics, bold, etc. After that little problem was repaired, I went back and edited this story complete with bold, underlined, and italic lettering. I just wanted to keep that intro the same cuz I liked it. (shrug)

- - -

This was strange . . . even when he was lacking in sight, Sands could still see. Not with his eyes, of course, but there were substitutes. Sound, scent, and touch worked efficiently enough. Though they wouldn't work forever. Something was bound to happen sooner or later. Ohhh, that's right. Something HAD happened. That's why he had another hole to add to his ever-growing collection of injuries. He had six in all, however, he shouldn't have had any of those injuries in the first place. Well, one of them, anyway. Part of him couldn't help but admit that.

_'Fucking bastard, Miller . . .'_ Sands thought bitterly, before turning over on the bed and gradually falling back to sleep.

That was another strange thing. When he was asleep, when he dreamed, he could still see. Sands remembered shrugging it off whenever he thought about this later. He supposed it was because . . . he wasn't literally SEEING the images before him but . . . they were being placed in his head. He could still picture things in his mind; the cartel hadn't deprived him of his vivid, if rather twisted, imagination. The mind was a very dangerous thing at times, and yet it could also be very useful. Sands knew that. He had known it for as long as he could remember, which was a very . . . very . . . long . . . time . . .

Sheldon Jeffery Sands had grown up in central Colorado with his loving family of four. Scratch that. He had grown up in Colorado, but the words 'loving' and 'family' were never used when talking about S. Jeffery Sands. He had been robbed of the only person he could have ever called true family when he was only eight. And, for the longest time, he had blamed Lynné for that.

For the first few years of his life, Sands had lived with his father and mother in a large house in a nice neighborhood. Things had been all right, well, why wouldn't they be if your family was rich? True, they didn't live in a mansion but their home was rather spacious nonetheless, and they weren't so poor that his father couldn't afford to pay for lessons in tennis and horseback riding. Yes, horseback riding, but Sands couldn't say it wasn't a useful skill to know. He had gotten out of more that one situation by using the aid of a horse.

Sure, his life was okay. He had nice possessions and, for a child, he was very bright. He even had several other children he could consider friends, but he was younger at the time, more trusting when it came to people. But none of those things made up for how things were at home. Sands father was decent to him, in the beginning, at least, but he was never incredibly close with the man. He always preferred his mother to his father. That was obvious.

His mother was very pretty from what Sands could remember of her. She had long, dark hair, fair skin, and light blue eyes, unlike his father who had light brown hair, a normal skin color, and deep brown eyes. Like his. Like his used to be.

The forlorn thoughts left as quickly as they came, and Sands was spared for the time being.

Things had been going fairly well up until the time he was four. He was getting along very well with his mom, and, though they had a few rows here and there, Sands and his father were civil towards each other. But then, things . . . changed . . . and Beatrice Lynné Sands entered his life.

Sands didn't like the little girl from the start. He wasn't sure what it was, but something told him that the child was an enemy. Admittedly, when Beatrice was born she was showered with attention and he hadn't cared for that in the least, but it was more than jealousy that drove him towards hatred. Perhaps it was the certain date of her birth that did it. Beatrice Lynné Sands was born on February 26 . . . . . Sheldon Jeffery Sands had been born five years earlier on February 29. Needless to say, with Beatrice being born, Sands' birthday was forgotten that year.

_'Fucking leap year,'_ Sands thought as he tried to fall asleep._ 'I still don't care for THAT little arrangement.'_

But his loathing for his sister had increased three years later.

They had been in the car, his mom and his hated sibling, heading towards the nursery school where Beatrice stayed while their mother went to work at her law firm and their father did his things with the government. They had been driving down the freeway, but they hadn't been the only ones. There had been several other drivers . . . one of whom was, though the police could never find evidence against him, drunk.

Sands could remember everything about that day. His father receiving the phone call, the call that had informed them that his mother and sister had been involved in a car accident. His father almost drove off without him, but Sands had beaten him to the BMW and was already sitting in the car when his father finally came out of the house.

He could remember the doctors saying that his mother, the driver, would not live through the night, but that his sister would, but only because she had been in the back seat. She was still badly injured and would need a blood transfusion, and quickly for she didn't have a high blood count to begin with, but they were out of the type of blood she needed. His father had hurriedly informed them that his son, Sheldon, had the same blood as Beatrice.

The little girl lay unconscious on the hospital bed, bruised and cut, as Sands watched the doctors inject his blood into her. As he took all of this in, scorn ate away at his insides. If she hadn't been born, his mother wouldn't have had to drive her to school, if she hadn't been born, there wouldn't have been a car wreck, if she hadn't been born, two pints of blood would still be inside of him.

But there was someone else to blame: the driver of the other vehicle. Of course he had gotten off scot-free. He was fine, save for a few scrapes. Hell, he wasn't even thrown in jail for DUI because this was the nineteen eighties, before it was against the law to be driving drunk.

_'Yeah, I had at least twelve shots before I got on the road . . .'_ the bastard admitted it! They had all heard him. But nooo, no. . . .that wasn't 'enough evidence' according to the police. Fuckmooks. That's why Sands despised all kinds of law enforcement. Funny that he became a CIA agent many years later.

Sands tossed uneasily on the bed. He was still a little cold, but not as cold as he had been a few hours ago. Sleep still evaded him, however, and thoughts of the past continued to enter his mind. Sighing wearily, Sands turned over once more.

His mother had died. He remembered her lying on the hospital bed in a room that was white and bare (color seemed to be illegal in hospitals), her dark brown hair splayed out on the pillows beneath her, her cool blue eyes closed. He would never see her eyes again . _. . ._

But she didn't look like she was that badly hurt. But she was bleeding internally, and there was nothing the doctors could do. Sands hadn't been allowed in the room as his mother lay dying, instead, two doctors had ushered him out into the hallway while his father stayed with his mother.

Sands shifted again, wishing the bed he was laying on was warmer. Wait, that wasn't right. He wasn't THAT cold, and there were how many blankets covering him? Suddenly, a part of him understood that the warmth he was seeking wasn't heat.

**_Aww . . . isn't that sweeeet?_** the voice in his head cooed mockingly_.** You're more human than you thought.**_

_'Shut up. If I'm NOT human, then what the fuck am I?'_

**_Beats the shit outta me. I'm just a voice in your head, remember?_**

_'All too well,'_ Sands replied coldly_. 'Wait a minute . . .what the fuck is laying next to me?'_

**_What? Oh. Lyn. I think she passed out or something . . ._**

_"What!?!"_

Sands shot straight up in bed and regretted it two seconds later. The wound in his side immediately fired shots of pain through his torso, but he hissed through his teeth and did his best to ignore it.

"Mmm...what?" he heard Lynné mumble next to him.

"What the hell happened?" Sands demanded furiously.

". . . . . nothing – wait a minute, why am I sleeping in your bed?" Lyn wondered aloud.

"Why are you . . . yeah."

Though neither of them knew it, at the same time, both of the voices in their minds cackled insanely at how dense their torment-ees could be.

"Ohhh," Lyn sighed with realization, "Oh, oh, oh. . . Okay. I know what happened."

"Really," said Sands sarcastically, "Do tell."

"Wellll," she said casually, "after you passed out, I drained a pint of my blood, gave it to you, and then collapsed."

"On this bed?" Sands asked incredulously.

Lynné looked down at the sheets below her.

"Yep."

Sands exhaled dramatically as Lyn crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall the bed was pushed up against.

"So you drained your blood --" he said disbelievingly.

"-- only a pint--" Lyn corrected.

"-- when you knew that was a dumbassed move?" he continued, acting as though he hadn't heard her.

"It would've been dumber if I'd've just let you die, but, hey, can't chance the past. Not yet."

"Crazy bitch . . ." Sands muttered tiredly, suddenly feeling extremely lightheaded now that that dilemma was out of the way.

Lynné's expression changed from casual to concerned in an instant. Sure, Sands was sitting up, but he wouldn't be for long. His upper body was already swaying dizzily and his head hung slightly as if he hadn't enough strength to hold it up anymore. His skin had become pale and clammy and, as she once again placed her hand on his head, she detected a fever.

Gently, Lynné took Sands by the shoulders and started to ease him down onto the bed.

"Lyn, what are you –"

"C'mon, lay down," she instructed, her voice orderly yet comforting. That was something new.

"Why? I'm –"

"Say fine and I'll add another hole to your mounting collection. Now. . . down, boy."

"No, Lyn, I'm fine," Sands tried to protest. "After what you did, you probably need more sleep than –"

"Oh, gosh, don't get me started on sleep, mister. And I don't need any. YOU on the other hand are sick and suffering from blood loss, not to mention the fact that you went into shock last night. . ."

"I went into shock?" Sands wondered out loud.

"Too right you did, now down."

At last, Sands came into contact with the bed, and when he did, he didn't bother to get back up_._

_'God, why am I so tired?'_ Sands thought. One moment ago he had been at full attention, but now he was groggy, his mind was clouded. He needed sleep desperately.

**_Oh, gosh, let's think about this. You were shot how many times?_**

_'Only four. That's one less than when I was stationed in France.'_

**_Only by one fucking shot._**

Sands obliged to his sister's orders, but only by leaning back to rest his head on Lyn's lap. For some reason, he felt that his sister would exit the scene, maybe not entirely, but just long enough to leave him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to make certain she stayed.

**_Why, though?_** the voice wondered curiously._ **Why do you want her to stay?**_

_'Need somebody to annoy,'_ was Sands' stiff response.

**_Oh, fuck that,_** snorted the voice._ **That's what I'M here for, fuckmook.**_

_'Damnit, I wish he'd stop doing that,'_ Lyn thought, annoyed.

**_Catchin' ya off guard, isn't he?_**

_'No.'_

**_Yes._**

_'No.'_

**_YES._**

_'Fuck you.'_

_**That was weak**._

_- - -_

Lynné Sands opened her dark brown eyes with a start. She had always been a light sleeper, always ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. And in order to sleep, she had to have complete darkness. The slightest glimmer of light would keep her awake.

But there wasn't any light right now. Her bedroom was completely dark. So what had woken her up . . . ?

She sat up abruptly in her bed, her straight, shoulder-length hair swinging around her head as she did so. There it was again, the thing that had interrupted her sleep. It was a long, drawn-out, gasping sort of sound, like someone who was trying desperately to calm themselves. Somewhere, someone was distressed or even terrified.

As quietly as she could, Lynné swung her feet over the edge of the bed. They dangled about a foot or two above the floor. Lynné frowned down at them. She didn't like being tiny, but that's the way she was.

Carefully, she slid off of her bed. Her feet hit the floor making no noise. She remained silent as she slipped out of her bedroom. Stealthily, she went down the shadowy hallway, her bare feet inaudible on the cool, hardwood floors. Placing a hand on the door next to hers, Lynné turned the knob, and poked her head inside the room.

Her older brother had his knees drawn up to his chest tightly as he sat up on his bed shaking uncontrollably. Long, dark, hair that fell to his chin curtained his face, but his eyes were still visible. His eyes, identical to hers, were livid with fear. They kept darting around the room as if terrified that something was going to jump out of the dark corners.

Cautiously, Lynné approached him. He couldn't hear her, her feet never made a sound, but his bedroom door had undoubtedly moved. Sitting up abruptly, her brother narrowed his eyes and focused all of his concentration on detecting movement or sound. He knew he wasn't imagining things. The darkness that surrounded him wasn't toying with his mind as it had been. That door had moved, he was sure of it.

Four-year-old Beatrice Lynné Sands, in her light pink nightgown made of soft satin, crept into his room. Hatred banished fear as he took in the girl's small form. He hated everything about her, and why shouldn't he? She had taken everything that was his: his hair, his eyes, his blood, his mother. He had every right to despise the little girl.

"What do you want?" demanded eight-year-old Sheldon, glaring at her furiously.

"Are you okay?" she asked curiously. Her sentence was simple but perfect. At the age of four it was clear that the child was smart. Her grammar was hardly ever wrong, her sentences never held any errors, and she probably knew more words than the rest of the kids in their neighborhood combined. Well, except for HIM, of course. Sheldon was a bright child as well, his parents had determined that years ago. He remembered, briefly, when his parents had praised him for his achievements. But those days were over. Now it was all about darling little Beatrice.

"I'm fine," he spat furiously. "Get lost."

Beatrice rolled her eyes at him. "That's a lie."

"No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is." She put her small hands on her hips and narrowed her dark eyes at him. "What's wrong?"

"If there was anything wrong, I wouldn't tell YOU," her brother sneered.

Her eyebrows rose at this remark.

"Why?"

Sheldon paused. Didn't she know? He looked at the little girl in front of him, considering her intently for a few seconds. She really didn't know?? Was she THAT stupid? Here he had thought she was smart, guess that was a mistake if she didn't even know he hated her. Maybe she didn't know WHY, but surely she knew at least THAT much. Yes, that must be it. But then again . . . . he had never really shown any scorn towards her. Sheldon merely pretended Beatrice didn't exist, and whenever he had to talk to her, he kept things brief. Maybe she thought he was quiet. If she did . . .

"Don't you know?" he asked incredulously.

"I know lots of things," Beatrice replied simply.

Now it was time for Sheldon to roll his eyes. "I mean, don't you know that I . . . y'know, don't like you?"

"Yeah, kinda," she said, hoisting herself up on his bed. He glared down at her. Beatrice . . . was sitting . . .on HIS . . . bed. "But you were keeping me awake. SO," she continued, looking up at him expectantly. "What's wrong?"

Her brother scowled down at her. There was no way he was about to spill his guts to HER. Besides, she was four, what could she do? What COULD she do . . . ? She was just a little girl, after all, it wasn't like she'd remember any of this the next morning. Little kids had short-term memories.

**_Not her,_** a small voice reminded him._ **She was talking when she was nine months old. Yeah, her memory's reeeeal short.**_

He couldn't remember when he had first heard the voice, it was so long ago. It seemed like it had started speaking to him when Beatrice was born. Yes, that made sense. He felt neglected after his little sister arrived and he needed someone to talk to. Unfortunately, Sheldon had never asked for the voice. It had shown up on its own will.

"Nightmare?"

"What?" Sheldon asked, turning his attention back to his sister.

"Did – you – have – a – nightmare?" she asked slowly and deliberately.

"What – yeah . . ." He trailed off, stunned that that little girl had gotten an answer out of him so quickly.

"About . . . ." Beatrice held out her hand as if waiting for him to put the answer there. Nothing happened; her brother continued to stare at the carpeting. She rolled her eyes again. This was getting irritating. If she wanted to get in a decent amount of sleep, she'd have to get some answers now.

"Sheldon?" she asked intently.

Her brother's head snapped up. His dark hair swung around as he turned sharply to face her. No . . . she hadn't . . . she hadn't . . .

"Don't – call me – that," he ordered through gritted teeth. "I HATE that name."

To his surprise, Beatrice smiled.

"Me neither. You don't really look like a Sheldon," she said eyeing him critically.

He winced at the sound of the name, but said nothing.

"If it makes you feel any better," she continued, "I hate MY name, too."

Sheldon considered the small girl beside him for a moment. No, Beatrice didn't fit her any better than Sheldon fit him.

"What about your middle name?" he asked her. "Lynné isn't that bad."

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding slightly. "Yeah, that's okay. What about you?"

Her brother wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Jeffery makes me sound like a little kid," he told her.

Once again, Lynné rolled her eyes, giving him a 'duh' expression.

"Yeah, but it's better than Sheldon," she informed him.

"I still don't like it," he stated firmly.

"Well what about just calling you by your LAST name?" Lynné suggested thoughtfully.

Gazing down at her, Sheldon pondered what his sister had been saying. Why was she doing all of this? Did she expect something in return? Because she wasn't going to get anything out of him if that's what she thought. But then he took something into consideration: Lynné was his sister, and from what he had noticed in the short time they'd been 'bonding,' she was very much like him.

Realization sinking in, Sheldon turned to Lynné and gave her a rare smile.

"Yeah, Sands'll work."

_- - -_

Lynné's eyelashes fluttered as she slowly drifted out of sleep. As she lifted her head off the wall, she glanced around the room. Instantly, memories of the past twenty-four hours began to flood her mind. The Day of the Dead, taking out a few nobodies, kicking Ajedrez hard like she had always wanted to, Sands leaning against the rough wall of a building, blood trailing down his limbs and face . . .

She blinked rapidly to clear her head, but it didn't help. New, more recent events came into focus. Lynné thought of how she had asked her brother to remove his sunglasses when he told her what had happened, how they had talked a bit while she was stitching him up. Then she thought of the two black cars she had seen pull up in front of her house, seen four people step out of the vehicles, and realized that they were no people, they were a quartet of her fellow agents – the agents!

Lynné shot up abruptly, not disturbing Sands in the least. He was still asleep and using her as a cushion. Shaking her head and remembering that her brother had always been a deep sleeper, Lynné took in her situation. There were three dead and one possibly alive CIA agents in her house, and she couldn't think of how she was going to get up. Lynné was just about to let her irritability get the best of her and simply shove Sands over to the other side of the bed, when Liam strolled through the door.

"Hello," she said, giving him a tired smirk that didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Hi," he replied cautiously. "I, um, tied Baronn up and, uh, did what I could with the others."

"Which was?" prompted Lynné.

"Well, I dragged them all into the living room as best I could and cleaned up the blood."

Lynné nodded in approval.

"Baronn still unconscious?"

Her partner shook his head.

"She was coming to after I tied her up. You hit her pretty hard," he explained, smiling slightly. "How's your hand?"

"Fine, fine." Lynné waved him off with her unharmed hand purposely. If he saw the bruising that was forming on the other . . . she didn't need him feinting on her again.

Biting her lower lip, Lynné reached across her for a pillow. Once she had one in her grasp, she began the tedious task of replacing her legs with it without waking Sands. Finally, after several long minutes, she succeeded and Sands had a pillow under his head instead of her lap. Lynné looked up and smirked when she saw Liam watching her with a politely confused expression on his face.

"If I didn't know better," he said, "I'd swear you've done that before."

Lynné's smile widened a bit.

"For some reason . . ." she drawled lazily, "most men I come into contact with find ME a better cushion than the real thing."

_- - -_

Agent Baronn was exactly where Liam had left her: tied to a chair at the kitchen table. Her dark, nearly black hair framed her face, shielding her pale green-blue eyes from view. The heavy eye makeup she always wore had been smudged, leaving dark circles under her eyes and, with her short black hair, making her look more gothic than usual. Her bright red lips had been punctured by Lynné's fist and blood was slowly trickling down them, past the yellowish-purple bruising that had formed on her pale chin, and onto the dark blue blazer she wore.

Pulling out a second chair, Lynné sat down directly across from her and flashed her a sardonic smile.

"Hi."

Baronn only response was to narrow her eyes at the woman in front of her. In return, Lynné sighed with disdain.

"Merie . . . I thought we'd outgrown the silent treatment." She sighed again. "Apparently not."

"And I, as well as everyone else at the Company, thought YOU were dead," snapped Baronn.

"Once again, apparently not," said Lynné, smiling once again. "Now, down to business –"

"It's no business of YOURS," Baronn informed her in a haughty tone that was met with a raised eyebrow. There was silence for a few moments, but then a smirk crossed Lynné's face.

"You're right," she said, "It IS no business of mine; it is that of my brother's. However, since he is unable to join us at the moment, I am acting as his official spokeswoman. So kindly answer the questions I ask . . . and I can guarantee you that --"

"Guarantee what?" the agent spat. "That I won't go into cardiac arrest?" She snorted. "Yeah, tell that to the last person you interrogated."

Lynné's eyes narrowed, enhancing her dangerous image even more.

"I wasn't informed that that suspect had a heart condition, a fact that you and I both know. Just because my questions made him a little excited and it had a tiny effect on his nerves, doesn't mean that'll happen to everyone I interrogate."

She smiled mirthlessly again, and this time, Baronn was unnerved, but she held her ground and glared back.

"Prod all you want, you fucking bitch, but I'm not telling you anything."

"And what a good little agent you are for doing that," Lynné complimented in a high, falsely cheery voice, resisting the urge to pat Baronn on the head like a dog that had just preformed a cute trick. Dropping the act, Lynné continued.

"But you need to stop screwing around." She waited for a few seconds, half-expecting Baronn to start talking. No dice. Time to try a new tactic.

"Okay," Lynné said, standing up and beginning to walk back and forth in front of the table, "even if you won't give me any information, I still think I have a decent idea of what's going on."

She paused staring intently at the agent before her. Said agent's icy gaze didn't waver in the slightest.

"Sands told me he had called the Company yesterday because it looked as though his cover had been blown –"

"By who?" Baronn interrupted.

"Ajedrez," Lynné replied shortly.

"Ajedrez. . . ?" she repeated slowly. "But wasn't she an AFN agent -- ?"

"She also happened to be Barillo's daughter," Lynné cut in. "Anyway, after Sands called the agency and they hung up on him, he ran into the cartel and things got a little . . . ugly, but I won't go into details." She waved her hand dismissively. "Needless to say, he escaped the cartel, I found him, and then you guys dropped by.

"Now this is where it gets a little hazy, you see, after Sands told me that the CIA hadn't bothered to help him, I got to thinking –"

"Always a dangerous thing for you to do," muttered Baronn.

Lynné gave her a swift, warning look and she shut her mouth.

"I got to thinking and wondered if he had been burned. It seemed possible, and why not? That's what happened to me."

She heard a small, startled gasp escape Baronn and smirked down at her.

"Oh, come now. You couldn't have thought that I didn't know? But then again, I'm supposed to be dead, so I guess you must've.

"Moving along, I then wondered, if the CIA had indeed thrown Sands away, what their reason was. . . . ."

Suddenly, she sat down again, her eyes perfectly level with Baronn's, and said out of the blue:

"Sometimes, things can be too good, did you know that?" Lynné didn't wait for an answer. "Lots of things are good, but every once in a while you'll find something that's TOO good . . . and that tends to throw things off balance. And do you know what has to be done whenever that happens?" Once again, she didn't wait for Baronn to respond before continuing. "You get rid of it, and by doing that you restore the balance.

"Lots of things have been eliminated because they were too good: Presidents, CIA agents, cooks—"

"Cooks?" Baronn interrupted.

"Oh yeah," said Lynné, nodding. "You'd be surprised how many cooks have been killed because they were good at their job. But by doing so . . .the balance was restored. And that is what I think the CIA tried to do. Sands was too good at his job, the Company realized that that simply wouldn't do, so they tried to get rid of him without . . . actually . . . getting rid of him."

Baronn continued to stare into Lynné's eyes, but now she looked somewhat uncomfortable. Hoping that Lynné wouldn't notice her sudden nervousness would be useless. That bitch saw everything; she had already figured out the CIA's plans, and she hadn't even been in contact with the Company for three years.

"I'm assuming the CIA caught word that Sands was still alive, so that's why they sent you four out here to investigate. I'm also assuming that your first lead was this place because of a certain phone call you received last night –"Lynné saw Baronn's pale eyes widen through the massive amount of makeup around them. "Yes, that WAS me," she said, smiling slightly.

Lynné strolled calmly over to the table and once again took her seat across from Baronn.

"So tell me, Merie," she said, grinning maliciously, "are my skills still in tack or has Mexico rusted them a bit?"

Biting her lip and tasting blood in her mouth, Baronn swallowed, and Lynné knew that her gifts of intuitiveness and manipulation hadn't wavered in the least. Her lips pulled into a small smirk of triumph that Baronn noticed right away and didn't like at all.

"What are you going to do with me?" demanded Baronn, her tone low and growling.

"Do you remember what I said about you being a good little agent?" Lynné asked calmly.

Baronn gave her a questioning look. What did that have to do with -- her eyes suddenly widened with realization and shock as Lynné's words sunk in. She didn't seem to be able to move, not that she could have. She was still tied to the kitchen chair. Finally, after several silent minutes, Baronn managed a jerky nod.

"Then you should already know," Lynné said casually.

Without another word, she pulled a small silver gun out of her pocket, and aimed.

- - -

_(reads list of pages) O.O Meep, I can't believe how long this chapter is!! . Eleven pages may not seem like much to some, but for someone (namely me) whose chapters only last about eight pages or so, that's a lot. And, gerrh, I didn't even get to fit everything in this chapter! Only one of the three things I promised in the last chapter happened in this one. Well, ya got your dream sequence, at least, and in the NEXT installment, expect bargaining and escape! Promise! _

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	11. Lynné’s Superior Bargaining Tactics

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Eleven**: Lynné's Superior Bargaining Tactics

Actually, the title of this chapter is taken from one of my own quotes. - If you check the list of quotes on my FanFiction profile, I'm pretty sure I have it listed there. (tries to think of something more to say, but can't) Grr. Don't know why I continue to write these author's notes at the beginnings and endings of each chapter. (shrugs) Guess I'm just so used to doing it for my IZ FanFiction, that I'm doing it here as well.

Sands: When instead you could be filling up this vacant space with more of my story. 9.9 Typical.

Lynn: -.o YOUR story? I was under the impression that I had as big a role as you did in this.

Sands: (slowly) Yeeesss . . .that may be true . . . But unlike me, you don't have any fan-girls. u.u

Lynn: ò.o I wouldn't WANT any fan-girls.

Liam: (shuffles feet nervously) What about fan-boys?

Lynn: (thoughtfully) Do they even exist . . . ?

Liam: 6.6

Sidney: Firmez le bouche, all of you. .o;

Lynn: (waving her off) Oh, go firmez yourself!

Sidney: 'Go CLOSE myself. . . . ?' XD

Lynn: (glare)

- - -

The small, silver car came into view at the top of a rocky, clay-red cliff. Spectators may have wondered what a car was doing on top of a cliff, especially a cliff that was right above a seemingly bottomless lake. But since said spectators were nowhere to be found, their curiosity wasn't a problem.

Suddenly, the car started to move. Gradually, the vehicle edged its way towards the end of the drop. Then it was flying down the other side butte, gathering speed all the way.

_WHOOSH_

Straight off the edge of the cliff, the car sailed through the air for a fraction of a second before plummeting to the lake below. It hit the water with a resounding splash that sent mountainous ripples of water through the lake. And then, it was gone. The miniature Corvette had sunk to the depths below, hidden from view by tons of deep blue water. High above, a dark figure could be seen peering over the edge of the drop-off.

"Okay," the figure said quietly into a cell phone, "that's done. Oh, and I wanna thank you for helping me haul those bodies out to the car."

A voice sighed on the other end, somewhat tinted because of the phone. "I tried as best I could with my shoulder the way it is," it explained.

"Well," mused Lynné, "I suppose I could give you some credit for swiping their guns and wallets from them. How's brother dearest, by the way?"

"Uh, fine," Liam replied uncertainly. "I mean, not fine, of course not fine, he's anything BUT fine in his condition, but y'know—"

"Has he held you at gunpoint yet?" Lynné cut in.

"No."

"Has he said anything yet?"

"No."

". . . . . .has he even woken up since I left?"

She heard Liam inhale deeply over the phone.

"No."

Lynné allowed herself an exasperated sigh before continuing.

"Well, if and when he gets up, tell him everything's been taken care of, wink, wink."

Liam rolled his eyes at obvious meaning in his partner's words. He had to hand it to her, though. You never knew if the CIA bugged the phones they gave you, but Lynné always said she wouldn't put it past them. Whenever they had to use phones, they always tried to make it sound like they were doing exactly what the Company wanted then to do, and if anything ever seemed suspicious, they'd make it sound like a joke. Hence Lynné's sarcasm.

"Okay," Liam said finally. "I take it you're done."

"Not quite," Lynné told him. "I've still got a few arraignments to make."

"Oh," he said. "Okay, then. You sure you don't want a ride?"

"You can't leave the house, you know that."

"Oh, right, sorry," murmured Liam, embarrassed at his mistake. If course he couldn't leave, not when Sands would be left at the house alone. He heard Lynné's heavy exhale over the phone.

"Okay, I'll talk to ya later. Over and out."

A distinct beep told him that Lynné had hung up. Liam blinked down at the phone he was holding, somewhat bewildered.

Lynné leaned over the edge of the craggy cliff and saw that the waters of the lake were finally dying down. Soon, no one would be able to tell that a car had just disrupted the peaceful scene when it fell into the lake. With any luck, the CIA would never know that the corpses of four of their former agents were now sleeping with the fishes, as was Lynné's Corvette, something she wasn't happy about. The car was easy to detect, however, so she had to get rid of it, and what better way than to push it off a cliff?

'_I'm going to miss that car,_' she thought mournfully.

**_Oh for the love of God. You really are pathetic, d'you know that?_**

'_What? I LIKED that car,_' Lynné responded, slightly defensive.

**_Yeah, and it was just that: a CAR. Is a car worth a lifetime in jail? Cuz you know that's what'll happen if anyone finds out you killed those agent._**

'_Plus how many other people?_' thought Lynné with a grim smile.

**_Well, I'm just glad you're not going to chuck ALL of the cars in the same place,_** the voice said huffily.

'_You think I'm that stupid? Cars can be found, you know, especially if they're all in the same location. I'm gonna hafta find more places to get rid of the other two._'

**_What about a nice cave?_** suggested the voice. **_Or you could drive around 'til you find more cliffs that hang over lakes . . ._** It faded away as Lynné became lost in thought.

'_Yes, That'll work,_' she decided finally. '_But first I've gotta find a ride._'

**_Didn't think of that, didja?_** the voice cackled gleefully.

'_No shit, Sherlock,_' shot Lynné. '_Meh. There's a convenience store not too far from here. It's right out by the main road._'

**_Do you know how far the main road is from here!?_** the voice demanded, clearly outraged.

'_I wore sneakers,_' Lynné thought with a roll of her eyes.

**_Ugh. . ._**

- - -

In the end, Lynné didn't walk all the way to the dingy little convenience store. Instead, she had headed out to the main road and called a cab. The sight of a loan but attractive woman standing on the side of a dusty road in Mexico called for questions, and Lynné knew this when she ordered a taxi. Luckily, she already had a believable lie formed when the cab driver came to her – for lack of better word -- rescue.

Lynné's nose filled with the mixed odor of stale cigarettes, sweat, and old men. Sitting down in the lumpy seats of the taxi, she tried to hide how revolted she was. Overcoming the urge to retch, Lynné began to gaze out the window, her arms crossed over he chest and her message clear: 'I don't wanna talk, so fuck off.' Perhaps the driver didn't know body language any better than he knew English.

"So," the hairy driver said, his accent heavy, "what's a pretty thing like you doin' out here, eh?"

Okay . . . so he DID know English, maybe he was just stupid.

"Señorita?" asked the driver, looking at his passenger in the rear-view mirror.

"No reason," replied Lynné with a shrug and a Boston accent.

"Oh, it's all right, niña," coaxed the driver, "you can tell me."

'_Oh, fuck you, ya sleaze-bag._'

"Well, if ya must know," she sighed, "I'm here on vacation with my boyfriend and my best friend. Or, I was, anyway. Las' night, we were in our hotel, rigjt? An' I went out to get drinks. Came back, an' there they were . . . doin' the Horizontal Cha-Cha.

"So, I'm pissed, naturally, an' I'm not gonna let this go, no way. I mean, after I caught them doin' this the third time, ya'd think they woulda had enough, but no."

Lynné saw the driver's eyes widen in the rear-view mirror and she bit back a smirk.

"So, anyway, t'day my boyfriend an' I go for a drive. 'We need to talk,' he says. So I say, 'yeah,' an' so we get in the car an' we're drivin' down this road in the middle of no-goddamn-where. The next thing I know, he's stoppin' the car, tellin' me to get out, an' drivin' away! The lousy fucker . . . so, here I am."

The driver stared at her for a long moment. The road they were on wasn't busy with traffic, but there were still a few cars traveling on it, and this guy needed to keep his eyes on the road.

'_Must be a guy thing,_' Lynné mused, thinking of Liam and how distracted he could get. But, then again, he was always like that. In any case . . .

"Hey, eyes on the road, mister," she pointed out.

The cab driver let out small gasp, startled that he hadn't been paying attention, and turned his eyes back to the highway.

"So, eh, what are you going to do about your boyfriend?" he asked in a false-casual tone, as he slowed the car to a halt outside of a pristine, upper-class hotel.

"Wellll," Lynné began, sliding out of the car gracefully, "I was thinking of getting, y'know, revenge."

"Like what, chiquita?" he inquired, giving her a sleazy grin.

"Oh, somethin' very unique, y'know? Only problem is, I may have a bit of trouble carryin' it out."

"Really?" the driver asked, interested. "Well, if you need any help" – his hand went for her behind – "feel free to ask. I'm always ready to . . . lend a hand."

In an instant, Lynné's hand shot out and grabbed the driver's wrist in a vice grip. Her eyes narrowed, but her smile stayed in place as she breathed quietly in his ear:

"There's not doubt in my mind that you are," she said, dropping her Boston voice, "but I think you'd like to know what I intend on doing to my former boyfriend before you decided you really want to assist me, savvy?"

The driver nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with fear as Lynné continued to glare at him, her voice still deadly calm.

"Good. Now, as for my boyfriend, my original plan was to give him the same punishment I always give guys who have cheated on me, taken advantage of me, or even attempted to grab my rear . . . and that is a simple shot in the head."

The driver swallowed nervously.

"But that seems a little boring, don't ya think? Yeah, I think. I mean, yes this guy cheated on me, but I want him to suffer. . . . . so what would you say to total and complete castration?" She grinned. "Can ya dig it?"

The driver gaped at her, looking nowhere near as comfortable as when he was attempting to woo her. He looked like he wanted to do nothing more than bolt to his car and drive as fast and as far away from Lynné as he could. A terrified noise escaped his open mouth, but other than that, the driver said nothing.

"Didn't think so," Lynné said softly and she dropped his sweaty wrist. Immediately, the driver scrambled to get into his taxi. He fumbled with the key as he tried to get them in the ignition without breaking the end off. When he finally managed to, the driver sped away without a second look at the beautiful woman with the dark shades and the wry smile.

- - -

"Señor Martinez, you have a visitor waiting for you in the café."

Andréez Martinez turned around to face his secretary. She smiled back at him pleasantly. He wasn't an unattractive man, though he wasn't incredibly hansom either, AND he was rich. But he was also married. Too bad.

"Who?" he asked, interested.

"A Señorita Bones to see you," his secretary replied, glancing down at a slip of paper that had undoubtedly been left by Señorita Bones. The only thing was, Andréez had never heard of a 'Señorita Bones' and he made a point in telling his secretary this. She gave his a strange look that was mingled with concern.

"She's a gringo, señor, and she said she was in need of some assistance and that you could help her, that's all I can tell you."

"Thank you, Maria," Andréez muttered vaguely, striding out of the lobby and stroking his full moustache – a persistent habit he had been trying to restrain from doing.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the café was that it was full of chatting people, which made sense. It was around noontime, after all, a time when most people liked to have lunch. The second thing he saw was the back of a loan woman with brown, shoulder blade-length hair sitting in a far corner of the room, sipping on a strawberry daiquiri. Andréez closed his eyes slowly, praying that when he opened them the woman would be gone. It was a useless hope, because the woman was still sitting at her table and still sipping on her drink when he had opened them.

Maybe he could back out of this right now. Yes, she hadn't seen him yet. He could just walk out of the room and she would never – she waved. She waved at him, the crazy gringo. And she had smiled, too. Obviously she wanted something from him. Well, there was no turning around now, she had seen him, and he had no intentions of getting on THIS woman's bad side.

Andréez Martinez took his seat across the table from Agent Lynné Sands (as far as he knew, she still worked for the CIA). She smiled, he frowned. If he didn't loath her as much as he did, Andréez would have thought her very pretty. Her hair was dark and long and she had light skin that seemed flawless. She had high cheekbones that surprisingly didn't make her look as though she had one too many facelifts, and lips that were set in a permanent pout. But her eyes were intense and almond-shaped, and they always contained a strange sparkle to them that he didn't like. And her humorless smile (it was more of a smirk, really, he didn't think he had ever seen her actually smile) automatically made him distrust her.

"Andy," she greeted cheerfully.

"You can stop with the act, señorita," Andréez responded shortly, "just cut to the chase."

"I'm getting the feeling you aren't happy to see me," she said, pretending to look hurt, though he knew the agent could really care less even if he were madly in love with her.

"Ah, you would be right then, señorita," he replied. "What do you want?"

"Boy, you really get down to business, don't you?" Lynné asked sarcastically. "What if I were to tell you I just wanted to talk, then what would you say?"

"I'd say you were a liar and ask you to kindly get out of this hotel at once, but only because you're a woman. If you were a man, I'd throw you out myself."

"I am eternally grateful, señor," she sneered coolly. "But if you insist, I'll be straight with you. I AM here to ask you something, nothing big, just something I think you can help me with."

She took another sip of her daiquiri.

"And that would be . . . ?" He glared at her impatiently from the other side of the table.

"A plane. Private, if you can manage."

Andréez didn't respond, he simply gawked at her.

"Don't give me that look, I know you have at least four planes to spare. And since I did help you out of that rather sticky situation two years ago –"

"You blackmailed me," he accused, "That wasn't helping."

"Weeelll if you caught a rich hotel owner sleeping with, not one, not two . . . but THREE lovely young ladies when he is a happily married man. . . . what would you do? Be honest, now."

Andréez hesitated. Should he tell her the truth? She would know if he was lying anyway. . .

"I would use it to my advantage," he answered flatly.

"Thatta boy," Lynné congratulated happily. "See? Don't you feel better telling the truth?"

"No."

"Well, neither do I. Especially now. But I have to, so I will. I'll be perfectly honest with you: I need you to lend me one of your private planes and no one can know about this, all right? This has to be completely confidential or else the CIA will be on my ass as well as yours faster than you can go out and jump your new secretary."

His dark eyes shot daggers at her from across the table, but Lynné was completely unmoved by his look of hatred. Lynné smiled again.

"So, can you get me my plane or not?"

- - -

"You can't tell me he's still –"

"He's asleep, yes," Liam informed her.

Lynné sighed and closed her eyes in exasperation. Sands needed sleep, she knew that, but for some reason the fact that he had been sleeping soundly for nearly seven hours worried her. She didn't like being worried anymore than she liked waking up her brother, but it was something she would have to deal with.

Placing a hand on the banister, Lynné ascended the stairs. When she entered Sands' room, her brother was, predictably, asleep. Lynné shook her head as she walked over to the chair next to the bed and sat down.

Sands was asleep on his back, his chest rising and falling gently, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Lynné sighed as she looked down at her brother. As icy as she was, she tried to think of a million reasons why she shouldn't wake Sands up. She couldn't, not when he looked so peaceful.

'_That and the fact that he's a real jackass whenever he first wakes up._'

**_But you HAVE to get him up. You can't just wait to wake him up 'til we're ready to LEAVE. Although, you will try to_**.

She cursed when she knew the voice was right. Filled with agitation, Lynné admitted it, albeit, silently.

'_You bet your ass I will._'

So Lynné did everything she could to give Sands more time to sleep: Gathered together all of the things that she hadn't managed to pack already, made sure Liam had everything HE needed, got rid of one of the cars the CIA agents had shown up in (the remaining car would have to wait until tomorrow). Time seemed to evaporate so quickly Lynné could have sworn she had only been procrastinating for a few minutes. When she looked at her watch, however, she saw that she had been at it for over two hours.

Sighing for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Lynné sat down in the chair beside Sands' bed once more and looked over at her brother.

"Sands. . . ." she said quietly.

He didn't respond.

"Sands," she said again, a bit louder.

This time, he turned over so he was facing away from her. So he was awake, the bastard. Lynné narrowed her eyes at her brother's back and said again, this time more sternly than before:

"Sands."

He waved her off with a few short flicks of his hand. Lynné rolled her eyes. Okay, that's how he wanted to be, then fine. She could cope with that, she just had to make sure he wasn't armed before she did anything else.

After checking to see if there was anything Sands could use as a weapon, Lynné sat back down in her chair. Then, with another quick glance around, she leaned forward towards Sands.

". . . . Sheldon . ."

The reaction was immediate. Sands shot straight up in bed, his hands grabbing for his sister. At the same moment, Lynné flew back in her chair, narrowly missing a collision with Sands. Laughing quietly (and completely giving her location away), Lynné crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why . . . did you do that?" her brother growled menacingly, wearing an expression that would have sent chills down anyone's spine except hers.

"I had to get you up somehow," she explained, still laughing a little. "It worked."

"Obviously," Sands said, thinking that he would have rolled his eyes—

-- **_if they were still in your head,_** the voice pointed out gleefully.

'_Oh, blow it out your ass,_' he replied angrily.

"Why did you HAVE to get me up, Beatrice?" Sands sneered, using his sister's hated first name.

Lynné rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

"Cuz we're gonna leave this godforsaken country in about ten minutes."

- - -

_Huh. Didn't think I'd have this chapter up this week. How 'bout it. To all who have been reading and to those who have just read, thanks a bunch! RSVP! Or, répondez si vous plaît. But if you don't speak the supposed language of love that means, 'respond, if you please.' Thank you -_


	12. On the Road Again

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Twelve**: On the Road Again

(pointing) This chapter's title is a bit predictable, isn't it? Seriously, is it just me, or do all chapters involving road trips bear the same title? Or at least a similar one. There's nothing wrong with that, I just wondered if a majority of writers used the same title or if it was just me thinking too much again. (blinks) I'm gonna shut up now. =X

- - -

The sun was going down by the time they were on the road. They would have left the house sooner, but Sands had insisted that he didn't need helped down the stairs.

"There's no way in hell I'm letting YOU two carry me," he had stated defiantly.

"I wouldn't be able to anyway," Lynné had replied, gesturing to her small frame.

Liam had nervously looked between the two and said timidly:

"Are we going now or . . . ?"

So they had descended the stairway carefully, Sands with his hand on the railing as a way to stable himself, Lynné with her hand around his waist as an extra precaution, and Liam in front of the two so he could stop Sands in case he toppled forward. Luckily, no such thing happened, and, eventually, they made it out to the cars, and started on their journey, Liam in his navy blue SUV along with Sands and Lynné trailing far behind them in the remaining CIA car, making sure to keep her distance.

"So . . . this plane," Liam said into his cell phone.

"We're going on a plane?" Sands demanded from the back seat.

"Yes, Sands, we're going on a plane," said Lynné's exasperated voice from the aforementioned cell phone.

"Yes, we're going on a plane," Liam transferred.

"And I'm not looking forward to it either, so quit whining," she finished.

"And she's not looking forward to it," said Liam, leaving out a few choice words. He didn't want to get shot, especially when he needed to drive.

"So tell him to quit whining," Liam heard Lynné say sternly.

"Do you want me to get killed?" he asked incredulously.

"No, I just want you to tell him what I said. And make sure you tell him it was ME who said it. He won't kill you if he knows it's coming from me."

"Lynné!" Liam cried desperately.

"What, what's she saying?" Sands wanted to know.

"Nothing," Liam assured him hastily. Sands was skeptical and knew full well that his fellow agent was lying, but didn't push it, not when he was this worn out . . .

'_That bastard,_' he thought, thinking of the former agent Miller scornfully.

**_Yeah, he really did a number on ya, didn't he?_** laughed the voice.

'_Not really. If the cartels hadn't gotten to me before he did, Miller's shooting me probably wouldn't've been that big a deal._'

**_Okay, fine, but -- _**

"How long 'til we get there?" Sands asked Liam before the voice could finish.

"Lynné said about an hour," he answered, "but we have to get rid of that other car first, so around ninety minutes."

Sands leaned back in his seat and groaned. Car rides were so irritating, not to mention boring . . . especially when one had nothing to occupy their mind since they couldn't exactly SEE.

**_You could try starting a sing-a-long,_** the voice suggested mockingly.

'_You try anything,_' Sands began to warn, but he was too late.

**_Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life fo -- _**

'_Christ, shut the hell up!_'

**_What's the matter?_** the voice asked innocently.

'_YOU, that's what the fucking matter is. I hated that movie and you know it._'

**_You did?_** it asked, pretending to be perplexed. **_Whoops, my mistake._**

'_Your mistake my ass. . ._' Sands thought darkly.

- - -

After Lynné had properly disposed of the black CIA car (following her inner voice's idea of pushing it of off another cliff and into a lake), she climbed into the front seat of Liam's car and the rest of their ride continued in silence. That is, until . . .

"Does anyone mind if I put on the radio?" Liam wanted to know.

Lynné shook her head and continued to stare out at the brilliant red, orange, and purple hues of the sunset. Sands waved his hand nonchalantly at Liam and said:

"As long as it isn't Mexican or country."

"Yeah," Lynné agreed faintly, her gaze never leaving the window. "I've had to endure that for the last three years, enough's enough."

"Okay, I don't blame you," said Liam, laughing slightly, and he began to fiddle with the dials of the radio. At first, the stations seemed to be made of nothing BUT upbeat Spanish music or mournful country songs. For a few minutes, the sounds of trumpets, guitars, and electric keyboards filled the SUV, then, Lynné's arm reached out to stop Liam from continuing his search.

"Stop," she commanded suddenly, "I love this song."

_Got a good reason . . . for taking the easy way out._

_Got a good reason . . . for taking the easy way out, now._

"Ah, Lyn, not the Beatles," Sands complained.

"Oh, I don't wanna hear it, Rolling Stones Boy," Lynné shot back.

_She was a day tripper . . . a one way ticket yeah._

_It took me so long to find out, and I found out._

Sands muttered something unintelligible while he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the seat of the car. Lynné on the other hand appeared more pleased than Liam had ever seen her. Apparently the girl was an avid fan of the legendary rock group, the Beatles.

_She's a big teaser . . . she took me half the way there._

_She's a big teaser . . . she took me half the way there, now._

_She was a day tripper. . . a one way ticket, yeah._

_It took me so long to find out, and I found out._

Soon, his partner was even singing along quietly, her foot keeping time with the rhythm. Her voice wasn't that bad for a girl who smoked like there was no tomorrow. No, her singing was rather nice, though, it would have sounded better if the song she was singing had been a jazz tune. She had one of those 'honey and smoke' voices that would have fit it well.

_Tried to please her . . . she only played one night stands._

_Tried to please her . . . she only played one night stands, now._

Sands muttered under his breath and cursed his sister for being just like him. She always had to have things her way, and, for the most part, she did. Lyn had to be the only person he knew who had ever gotten away with doing or saying anything to him. Well, aside from Ajedrez, but even then Sands felt certain that there were at least a few things he hadn't let slip.

_**Okay, I'll agree with that. But there was still that one little thing you let her walk away with.**_

'_And now I'm blind. There. Ya happy?_'

_**No.** _the voice said bluntly. **_I'm blind too, fuckmook. Plus, I'm stuck with you for the rest of your life._**

Doing his best to tune the voice out, Sands sank deeper into the backseat of the SUV, absentmindedly wishing for the comfortable mattress he had been sleeping on. And then there was the plane to think of. He hated planes, goddamn nauseating things that they were. Trying not to think of the things that he would have to endure the next day, Sands found himself listening to the song on the radio. And . . . oh Christ, was Fusco singing along now?

_She was a day tripper . . . a Sunday driver, yeah._

_It took me so long to find out, and I found out._

Shaking his head at the scene he could only imagine, Sands sighed and gave in to sleep, the last words of the song echoing in his mind . . .

_Day tripper . . ._

_Day tripper yeah._

_Day tripper . . ._

_Day tripper yeah._

_Day tripper . . ._

- - -

_Gargh, sorry that was so short. I really did intend for this chapter to contain the plane ride, too, but that just seemed like a nice place to leave off. And I got Lynné's theme song in there, too! =D It's weird. The lyrics to that song make me think of the way Ajedrez betrayed Sands, yet they also make me think of how many people Lyn's lead on in her life and how it was too late by the time they found out she was lying to them. Hmm. I dunno. The tune to the song really makes me think of Lyn, though, and I encourage everyone to go out and buy a Beatles CD with that song ('Day Tripper') on it. The Beatles' 1 Album is a good one to get. R&R!_


	13. Crazy Dream

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Thirteen**: Crazy Dream

Ooo, 'tis unlucky chapter number thirteeeeeeen . . . (wiggles fingers spookily) Oooo . . . it's the same as Friday the Thirteenth and Edgar Allan Poe's dorm room number . . . oooooo . . . . and I can guarantee you that in this chapter there will be some rather unlucky events in store for our trio of escape-ees. (cackles) I'm so evil, well, kinda. I'm just keeping things as real as I can , which is saying something if you consider the movie I'm writing a FanFic about. 9.9; Seriously, how did Marquez live if he was shot in the heart? And why didn't Sands have his badge taken away from him long before he came to Mexico?

Sands: (matter-of-factly) Magic. u.u

Sidney: -.6 Uh huh. I'll bet. Unless, of course, you're a witch and you've managed to hide it all this time.

Sands: Maybe – wait Don't you mean 'warlock?' I thought that's what guy witches were called.

Sidney: Nooo, see warlocks are – ah, forget it. I'll tell you after I get this thing written.

Sands: Oh no you don't, get back he –

Sidney: (waving him off) Go bother Lyn or something. Go on, shoo!

Sands: .6

- - -

"We're here," Lynné announced quietly as the SUV slowed to a halt.

"Oh goody," Sands said sardonically, adjusting his sunglasses as an extra precaution.

Sands, determined not to accept help from anyone, pushed open the backdoor of the car, though he used his left arm to do so. He would not be pitied just because some fucking drug lord had robbed him of one of the things he had relied on the most. However, he didn't turn his sister down when she offered him her hand as he began to ease his way out of the vehicle.

"Wow," Liam gaped as he stepped out of the car and began staring up at the impressive hotel. "Nice place."

"Where are we staying?" Sands wanted to know after hearing Liam's approval of the hotel.

"Umm, ed Hotel de Rosa Roja," he answered. The Red Rose Hotel.

"Which to those of us who don't speak Spanish . . ." Lyn trailed off, expecting an answer.

"The Red Rose Hotel," Liam told her.

"Lyn," Sands sighed with disappointment, "WHY are we staying at another one of your ritzy joints?"

"Since the majority of us prefer to stay at places where the doors actually lock," Lynné informed him shortly.

Sands held up his hands, saying, "Fine. Because it seems that you care more about hygiene than remaining inconspicuous –"

"This coming from the man who, in public, wears a shirt that says CIA," Lynné said with a raised eyebrow.

"I assure that no one gave me a second thought whenever I wore that shirt," Sands informed her.

"Uh, how 'bout we check in?" suggested Liam.

So they did, surprisingly without any arguments between the two siblings. Sands knew Lynné standing right beside him by how loud her voice was. Going against his own rule, which was to decline any kind of assistance, Sands carefully wound his uninjured arm around his living crutch, Lynné.

"Must've lost more blood than we thought," he told her. "I think I'm starting to get used to this."

Though his words were cool, Lynné couldn't help but notice how her brother's arm shook slightly as he slipped it around her, or the small beads of perspiration on his forehead.

'_Gonna hafta put him to bed again once we get our room,_' she thought mildly.

**_Yeah,_** the voice agreed from a distance, **_and after that, d'you think it would KILL you to get something to eat? Christ, you're trying to starve yourself, aren't you?_**

'_No,_' Lynné responded matter-of-factly, '_I've just . . . had too much on my mind._'

**_Oh, up yours._**

Lynné smirked inwardly at the voice's response.

- - -

"Did I mention that I really hate elevators?" Liam asked as he and his fellow agents entered their hotel suite.

"Yes," Lynné sighed in exasperation, as she led Sands to a nearby couch. "We all do."

"Oh," he said, looking somewhat stunned for a moment, then, "Did I mention that I REALLY hate planes?"

"YES," said both Lyn and Sands, their irritated tones identical. Liam backed away; he had no idea sunglasses could glare so well, and Lynn's were rose colored.

"Oh, well, um," he sputtered, "just . . . trying to . . . make conversation."

"Liam," began Lynné as she took a step towards him. Reaching up, she placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. "We all hate planes . . . . trust me."

"I know, I know," he assured her. "It's just, y –"

"You saw 'Final Destination,' didn't you?" She cocked her head to the side and looked up at him, studying him as if trying (and succeeding) to read his mind.

Sands could almost see Liam hanging his head like an ashamed little child. He knew that the other agent wouldn't be able to meet Lyn's eyes, not if she was giving him THAT stare.

"Yes . . ." Liam answered ruefully.

Lynné shook her head at him, albeit, Sands was almost certain he had detected a hint of amusement in her voice when she spoke again.

"Liam, Liam, Liam," she sighed. "You see, this is your problem: You watch these movies that scare the hell out of you and you wonder why you're so skittish.

"Now, how 'bout you go to one of the local dives and see if you can't find us something decent to eat? How's that sound?"

Lynné could have sworn that her inner voice's cheering was so loud and so triumphant that it could have been heard throughout the room, but there was no reaction from the two men. Sands stayed in his chair (he seemed to be contemplating something) and Liam brightened at getting let off so well and nodded.

"Okay," he said, "um, yeah. Any requests or . . ?"

"Tequila with lime," Sands called from the couch.

"Ignore him," Lynné said will a roll of her eyes. "He'll get no alcohol for quite a while."

Now Sands looked like a child as he crossed his arms over his chest and demanded:

"Why not?"

"And here I was starting to think you were smart." She shook her head in disgust. "Do I really need to answer that?"

"Spoil sport," Sands muttered.

"Just try and get something that isn't Mexican," Lyn explained to Liam. "This is a tourist-y place, so I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding a Chinese joint or an Italian place somewhere."

"Okay," Liam said nodding and still looking a little nervous as if unsure whether or not she was going to bite his head off. "I'll see what I can find, ma'am –"

Lynné pointed a finger at him in warning.

"Lynné," Liam amended at once, his eyes widening uneasily, but he relaxed once again when he saw his partner smile in satisfaction. She motioned to the door with a little wave of her hand. Liam didn't need telling twice. He left the hotel room, a little surprised to find that his head was still in its proper place.

Exhaling heavily and shaking her head, Lynné turned to her brother.

"You would think that after spending three years with me . . . he would've learned not to call me 'ma'am.'" She shook her head again. "Oh well. C'est la vie."

"You couldn't be more right," Sands said, shifting on the couch and tilting his head back. "Still wish you've let him get me a tequila, though."

"If you want something to drink, I brought water, but drinking something alcoholic in your state?" She tsked. "I thought you knew better than that."

Sands flipped her off. Lynné would have returned the gesture if her brother had been able to see it. Instead, she opened her suitcase, pulled out a book, and took a seat on the couch next to her brother. Rubbing his arms for warmth, Sands glanced around several times before he realized that it would do no good to try and look for something to occupy his mind with since he wouldn't be able to see anything. Sighing in annoyance, he turned to Lyn.

"You're a real conversationalist, ya know that?"

"Mmm."

"I mean, it's just talk, talk, talk with you. I dunno what to do to get you to shut up."

"Mmm."

"Whoa, slow down, girl. You're talking a mile a minute."

"Yuh huh."

Letting his vexation show, Sands tried another maneuver.

"What're you reading, anyway?"

"A book."

Sands stared in her direction for a beat before saying:

"Yes, I realized that. And you knew exactly what I meant, too –"

"Wrong direction, honey," his sister's voice called from another area of the room. Sands sat back in surprise. He hadn't even heard her get up, she was just that quiet.

'_But she was always been like that_,' he had to remind himself before he started getting paranoid about letting his guard down.

**_Yeah, she gets if from you, the crazy bitch._**

The sound of the news suddenly filled the room, and Sands heard Lynné say in triumph:

"Ha, so they DO get the American news in Mexico. Some damn señor told me they didn't . . . or at least, I think he did," she said in puzzlement.

Sands felt her sit back down on the couch and heard her pick up her book again, saying something about the news keeping him 'entertained' until Liam returned.

". . . . and now we have the governor of Colorado with us in relation to yesterday's attempt to overthrow the President of Mexico. Sir?"

Lynné slowly put down her book, her long fingers unconsciously running over its title: '_The Da Vinci Code._' She stared, as if transfixed, at the television while Sands could only listen.

"Three years ago . . . the CIA stationed my only daughter, one of their agents, in Mexico," the man on the TV choked. "Her job was to bring down Armando Barillo and his cartel before another dictator was put in charge. But then she . . . she disappeared, they think the cartel may have caught up with her."

He took in a breath to steady himself and then continued.

"The CIA never found her," he said shortly. "But instead sent my eldest and only remaining child, my son, in her place." The governor inhaled and his dark brown eyes looked straight into the camera, building up the dramatic tension that lingered in the air around him. "Now he has gone missing as well. The CIA sent four agents to go out and look for him, but, unfortunately . . . they have yet to turn up. If anyone . . . anyone at all knows anything about the disappearance of my son and daughter or their fellow agents . . . " He trailed off, swallowing hard. ". . . please, do not hesitate to tell us. Anything, even the smallest bit of information, will be helpful . . ."

"Thank you, Governor Sands," said the news announcer. "A number where you can contact someone about the disappearance of the governor's children should be appearing on the screen. Rest assured that your name and number will be kept confidential if you should call the number."

That was all Sands heard. Lynné must have gotten up to turn off the TV because the room was abruptly filled with silence. Sure enough, he felt her sit down beside him and pick up her book once again. However, she didn't seem nearly as interested in it as she had been earlier.

"That bastard . . ." she muttered furiously, more to herself than Sands. "Fucking son of a bitch . . . the bitch I'm named after."

Sands nodded but not a lot. Any sort of head movement made the empty gaps that should have held his eyes throb with pain.

"Yeah, y'know . . . Grandma Bea never really liked Mom, that's why she's always treated you –"

"— like shit," Lynné took over, laughing coldly. "Yeah, but she was always able to act like little Miss Mary Sunshine whenever anyone was around." She gave another short laugh. "Must run in the family. Dad's rather convincing to the hopelessly stupid."

"Yeah," Sands agreed thoughtfully. "And to think there are idiots who'll buy that."

Lyn's head bobbed up and down slightly. "Mm, that's what's sad. I just can't believe that prick had the nerve to go on TV and act like he's a decent parent – oh, wait. What am I saying, yes I can."

"This is OUR father we're talking about, Lynnie," Sands reminded her.

He felt his sister's movements as she pummeled the arm of the couch angrily.

'_Damn, she's pissed. When's the last time she did something like THAT?_'

**_Especially out in the open,_** the inner voice said in awe. **_Well, didn't YOU hear how that jackass sounded? Christ, he should get a fucking Oscar for that performance._**

"I'll bet he's got everyone fooled," he heard Lyn say. "That fucker could fool a lie detector for Christ's sake. . ."

"Guess we learned from the best, then," Sands mused, shaking his head.

There was a pause where, Sands assumed, Lynné was going over all of the new information they had gained. He decided to give her a moment to breathe. She was pissed, after all, and had always despised their father with every ounce of he being. His sister had been a second try. Their father wasn't satisfied with his son because the kid was 'weird.' So their parents had tried again, and this time their father was hoping that his wife would give him a decent son. But they had gotten Lynné instead and, after their mother had died in the accident, their father had taken to either ignoring his daughter or, when he had to actually speak to her, he threw snide remarks her way. Often, he would make comments about how both of his children had turned out to be underachievers.

**_Yeah, we were one big, happy family, all right. God, no wonder you moved away._**

"I want you to tell me," Lyn asked out of nowhere, her voice quiet and steady, "what happened with. . . ." He pictured a blurred image of her making a small gesture to his eyes – where his eyes once were. ". . . .and I want you to be honest with me."

Sands was silent for a moment, not because he didn't know what she meant. He knew exactly what she wanted to know, but, for some reason, he didn't want to tell her. Whether it was because he didn't want to revisit that terrible moment in his life or because he didn't want to have to see her look of horror once he told her the truth.

**_Why, though? It's not like you're gonna see what she looks like, anyway._**

'_But I'll still have to hear it. That would be worse._'

**_Dumbass,_** the voice scolded. **_She's gonna know whether you're lying either way. Just tell her and get it over with._**

Sands would have closed his eyes in exhaustion if they were still with him. He didn't want to tell Lyn anything, it would be too close to reliving the whole event that had changed his life, and he already did that whenever he dreamed. But to tell it out loud . . . that would be admitting it. Admitting that he had made a mistake, admitting that he had let his guard down and that he was punished because of it. Well, Barillo's punishment was one that would certainly leave an impression. That's what would make it final. If he told Lyn about the Day of the Dead . . . he would be admitting that he was helpless, weak, and that he was blind and would never be the same again.

"Sands."

Lynn's voice seemed very far away. Had she been talking to him the entire time . . ? He couldn't be sure. But he felt her hand on his shoulder and knew that she was staring up at him sincerely. That's when he knew. Lyn wouldn't care if he was now blind, she was simply curious, just like she had always been. But he needed to be sure.

"What brought this on?"

Lynné shrugged.

"Well," she drawled casually, "you only told me that Ajedrez had sold you out to Barillo, her father, and that the cartel had taken you in only to later throw you back out like this." He imagined her making another gesture to go with her words.

"I'm just curious to know," she explained softly.

"Yeah, I know you are," Sands sighed tiredly, tipping his head back against the couch. "Y'know those little drills the dentists use that you hate so much?"

Slowly, Lynné closed her eyes.

"There ya have it," Sands said simply.

All was quiet. If he listened carefully, he could hear his sister's breathing, but other than that, there was nothing.

"Were you awake when they did it?" she suddenly wanted to know.

A pause. Then, Sands nodded once and Lynné went back to her book.

"What did they do when they got a hold of you?"

Lyn's eyes, which had been trailing across the pages of her book, froze. Slowly, she raised her head.

'_Fuck._'

"You've had three years to give me the details, Lyn, yet you haven't said a word," Sands said with deliberate patients. "Why?"

She turned her head to face him, gazing into his dark glasses, as if searching for the eyes that were no longer there. It seemed like an eternity before she finally answered him.

"You never asked."

- - -

"When you called me, you said you weren't brining anyone with you." Lynn's tone was cool, but the woman herself was miffed. She was leaning over the little island that doubled as a bar in the kitchen, her naturally perfect eyebrows arched in suspicion.

"Didn't I?" Sands asked, feigning surprise. "Well, I apologize, Lyn. Must've been thinking with my dick again."

"Ya don't say," she said calmly. "So, who is she?" She inclined her head towards the young woman who had her brother's arm around her hips. She was of obvious Mexican decent and very pretty with long auburn hair that was slightly curled and honey colored eyes that, to Lyn, had the words 'conniving bitch' engraved in them. Then again, most women's eyes held that look.

"Ajedrez," Sands and his female companion answered promptly.

"Last name come with that or is she one of those 'artists' like Madonna who doesn't come with one?"

"She's an AFN agent, Lynnie," Sands told her, sparing Ajedrez from making up a false name (not that she didn't have one made up already). "Don't think there's anything to get suspicious over."

"You never know," Lyn said with a shrug.

He should have listened to her; taken notice of the icy look his sister gave Ajedrez as she surveyed the woman. Lyn had an instant distrust of people, whether they be friends or strangers. Hell, Sands didn't even think she trusted him entirely, not to say that she had his full trust either. He didn't think he had ever fully, truly trusted someone. He had put a little reliance in Ajedrez, though.

**_And there was your mistake right there, fuckmook. You shouldn't have trusted her at all._**

'_It IS kinda hard not to trust the person you're fucking, y'know?_'

**_No I DON'T know, idiot, I'm just a fucking VOICE in your HEAD, remember? Jesus H. Christ, if you get any stupider . . . . _**

". . . so, I'm off to meet Belini," he heard himself telling Lyn and Ajedrez.

"To get me my information," Ajedrez finished for him, smiling slightly.

"Which you were supposed to get for me." Lyn jumped right into their conversation with ease.

"Though I think you'd have a better chance at getting it yourself," retorted Sands, eyeing his sister's shapely form pointedly. Lyn rolled her eyes at him.

"You do have a way of winning over most men – and some women – without the use of a gun, if you know what I mean."

"And me?" Ajedrez demanded, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her 'lover.'

Sands turned away from his sister to reply. His answer was simple and cool:

"What about you?"

Lazily, Ajedrez pulled a small pistol with a silencer out the purse she was carrying and pointed it at Sands' throat. She waited for Sands' look of panic and Lyn's scream that Ajedrez was crazy and beg her to put the weapon down, but it never came. Sands expression never wavered and his sister's eyes fell back to the book she had been reading.

"Of course you can win men over, sugar-butt," he said finally, his voice calm, showing that, despite the fact that she was holding him at gun point, HE was still in control. "After all, you got me, didn't you?"

"You're letting your dick think for you again," Lyn said in a sing-song voice, cutting in before Ajedrez could answer.

"Right, right," he said, slipping his arm around Ajedrez's waist and smirking as the woman withdrew her gun. "I'll have to remember that or else I might find myself in a whole MESS of trouble."

Christ, why did Lyn's words always come back to taunt him? She always dropped warnings, hidden in casual phrases, and he usually heeded them, except for one time. One time when he had let someone get too close and later he had learned of the consequences that came with that and paid for his mistakes dearly. But, hey, all's fair in love and war, right? Yeah. Right.

Of all the things to come back and bite him in the ass, his sister's advice had to be the worst.

- - -

"When did he . . ."

"Few minutes before you came back."

"And . . . DID he pass out or did he just fall asleep?"

"No, no, I think he went out."

Everything had been taken over by an itching, burning heat now. It seemed to have wound itself around his limbs and body, making it impossible to move. Not that he could have if he had wanted to. The pain was back, as he knew it would be; the painkillers Lynné always had in her medical kit never lasted long, though they worked far better than Tylenol or Advil. It hurt to move. Everything ached no matter what he did. It was like his entire body had been beaten badly only a thousand times worse.

**_Oh, give it up, ya whiner. Life is full of pain, get used to it._**

'_Easy for you to say, you don't have to feel any of this._'

**_Oh yeah,_** the voice laughed lightly.

When had the sudden temperature been upped a few notches? The last thing Sands remembered was being somewhat cold, but not freezing, and asking Lyn to tell him what the cartel had done to her.

'You never asked.'

Her words echoed in his head, relieving him from Ajedrez's taunts for a little while; a nice change. But it didn't stop the temperature from blazing ever higher. The heat seemed to increase with every intake of breath. Flames had to be swarming his body by now, whether he could see them or not. The hundreds of torches around him cause sweat, soaking his hair and making it stick to his face and neck.

He was suffocating. That was it, plain and simple. The sudden blanket of fire had covered him entirely, smothering him. Sands tried to speak, but something caught in his throat; the flames were choking him. Deliriously, he tried to call for help from anyone. The growing blaze taking over . . . he could practically feel the flames flickering all around him . . . . . there had to be some sort of relief from this . . . anything . . .

And suddenly, there was. Something cool was being run through his damp hair, sending, he imagined, gusts of steam off of him as it did. But the question was, what was it . . .

"Shh, shh . . ." Sands heard someone say soothingly. "Calm down, it'll be all right. . . . . Your fever's back, but it will pass."

Lyn. She'd be the only one with enough balls to come near him at a time like this, and she was a woman. It was her hands he was feeling, Sands now realized. Somehow, her frigid hands had plunged through the ever-rising heat and had managed to subdue the impossibly high temperature that had threatened to take over his body.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were a different woman," he heard Liam remark in awe. The man was obviously stunned at Lyn's sudden uncharacteristic behavior. "I . . . in all honesty . . . I didn't know you could be like this."

She turned to give him one of her half-smiles.

"Good thing I don't plan on making this a habit, 'else we'd all be screwed."

Without either of them noticing, Sands allowed himself to smirk at his sister's comment, despite the throbbing pain that it caused his head to experience afterwards.

- - -

_Aaaaaand things just keep looking up, don't they? To think that the next chapter is the one that contains the plane ride back to the 'States. Once again, I wanted to have that in THIS chapter but really liked ending it where it was. I actually wanted to end it earlier than this but decided that a few things could be added. :-) Sands is still confused, by the way._

Sands: So you're saying that warlocks aren't guy witches but evil, traitorous witches who have gone against the, ah, 'witch's way?'

Sidney: (nodding) Yes. u.u Although, you're pretty evil, so maybe you ARE right to call yourself a warlock.

Sands: (raising an eyebrow) Yesss, but you're evil, too, but in a different way. Maybe YOU'RE the warlock.

Sidney: (shakes her head) Nooo . . . I can't be a warlock because I'm a girl.

Sands: (holds up a hand, silencing her) -.- . . . . . . . . . . wait . . . cuz you just . . . no, forget it. (starts to light up a cigarette) Fucking teenagers . . .

Sidney: Outside, mister. .9 (points to the door)

Sands: (glares but heads for the door) Fucking hippies . . .

_Oh, and one more thing before I forget (as I usually tend to do .o) the title of this chapter is yet anther song title, this one written by the Los Lonely Boys. Ehhhh . . . I THINK their song that's being pushed on the radio at the moment it 'Heaven,' if I'm not mistaken. It's an okay song, but since it's 'THE Song to Listen to at the Moment' people will play it constantly until you can't stand it anymore. Hence why I don't care for much of today's music and why I like a lot of the other songs on my Los Lonely Boys CD more than 'Heaven.' Okay, now that I've ranted, I'll post the lyrics just so you guys can hopefully see why I thought they fit this chapter. _

_I tried to find myself,  
For a very long time.  
Somewhere I lost myself,  
Its so hard to find my way back home.  
My body's roaming all day long._

_Feels like a real bad dream;  
I try so hard to break free.  
And even though I try,  
Something else has got a hold on me._

_Will I ever be in control of me . . . ?_

_When will I wake up,  
Escape from this crazy dream?  
Maybe tomorrow,  
I'll find a better dream for me._

_The shiver in my soul . . .  
Whoa, I think I'm gonna go.  
But in the depth of my mind,  
There's a place that only I have seen.  
Will it ever be reality . . . ?_

  
So When will I wake up,  
Escape from this crazy dream?  
Maybe tomorrow,  
I'll find a better dream for me.

_And no matter how hard I try,  
Well I just can't seem to open up my eyes . . ._

  
So when will I wake up,  
Escape from this crazy dream?  
Maybe tomorrow,  
I'll find a better dream for me.

.


	14. Father Dearest

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Fourteen**: Father Dearest

Here we have the chapter I have been waiting to write and the chapter Lynné, Sands, and Liam have been dreading. Hence why it's taken so long to post it. -.o

Lynn: Like you were eager to get on a plane after YOU saw 'Final Destination.'

Sands: You never know who the fuck's piloting those things, either. It could be some drunken circus clown for all you know.

Lynné and Sidney: (exchange looks with raised eyebrows)

Sands: What? It IS possible. Think about it.

Liam: (weakly) I don't like planes . . . . o.o;;;;

- - -

"C'mon, sugar, you've gotta stand up."

'_No, not when I just fell asleep. Get lost. Go on, now. Scram._'

Sands didn't know whether the words had been spoken or just thought. He heard someone let out a long, heavy breath beside him, which made him assume that he had said something.

"Sands . . ." That was Lyn. He could tell from the sound of her voice that she was concerned but that her patience was also wearing thin. In a few minutes she was probably going to snap and then things would get very amusing. Too bad he wasn't going to be awake enough to enjoy it.

"We're going to miss our plane."

"Don't care," he mumbled into his pillow, "I hate planes."

"I thought we already concurred that we ALL hate planes?" There was Liam's voice now. Lynné shot him a Look and he fell silent.

"We all hate planes but unless we want to drive back to the States and be an open target for the cartel and the CIA, we're taking one. And ours leaves in an our, so" – Sands felt a hand being hooked under his left arm – "upsy daisy."

The next thing he knew, the least likely person, Lyn, was hoisting him up into a sitting position. Ignoring the wave of dizziness that the sudden movement had caused, Sands glared at her and demanded to know how she did that.

Lynné shrugged nonchalantly, despite the fact that Sands couldn't see her, and handed him a T-shirt.

"Dunno. Use your imagination," she replied simply, to which Sands raised a hand in her direction and extended his middle finger.

"Where did you sleep last night?" he questioned took the pair of jeans Lyn offered him.

"Couch," she responded plainly. "Liam took one of the chairs."

"Oh," Sands said, slipping on a pair of worn jeans. "Which shirt is this?" he asked, holding it out warily.

Lyn shook her head as if to say, 'They're always cautious about things women pick out for them,' but she answered:

"It's the black one that says, 'Eyewitness of La Chuppacabra."

Sands groaned in annoyance but continued to pull on the shirt on anyway, careful to move gingerly because of his injuries.

"What?" Lyn asked innocently as she loaded her gun. "I always found that one rather amusing."

- - -

Liam let out a high-pitched, squeaky noise of terror as he gazed up at the ominous airplane. His eyes widened with fear; it looked as if there was no moving him for his entire body seemed paralyzed with fright. Sands wasn't looking nearly as petrified as Liam was, though he wasn't exactly thrilled about getting on a plane either. Lynné kept biting her lip distractedly but she seemed more together than both of the men did. Sighing tiredly, she placed a hand on both of her fellow agents' shoulders and led them towards the entrance.

"Oh, God," Liam muttered frantically, "I don't like this, I don't like this, I REALLY don't like – "

"We haven't even taken OFF yet," Sands groused, with an irritated look in the other agent's direction. Liam had taken the isle seat, wanting to be the furthest away from the window, Lynné had decided on the seat in the middle, and Sands was sitting in the seat next to the window because he couldn't see out of it anyway.

"That's the worst part," added Lyn. From what Sands could remember, his sister had always hated turbulence.

"Hello, passengers." The voice of a cheerful stewardess came over an unseen intercom. "We're about to take off and are expecting a little turbulence, so please buckle your safety belts and remain seated until we are in the air. Have a nice flight."

Liam's seatbelt was already securely locked. Lyn inhaled deeply for a few seconds before fastening hers, and, after a bit of fumbling, Sands managed to get his seatbelt buckled as well. He crossed his arms and sank back into his seat, his jaw clenched. Her face stony, Lynné unconsciously began drumming her fingernails on the arm of her chair, while Liam's nails clawed at the arms of his seat.

"Nice flight?" Lyn muttered furiously as the engine started, making the plane shudder. "Nice my Aunt Fanny." Her teeth were rammed together with such intensity they threatened to crack.

"Oh, God," he murmured under his breath. "Oh God, oh God . . ."

"Shut it," hissed Lyn, "You're not making this any better for me."

Sands said nothing but kept his teeth ground together until he heard the familiar dinging sound that gave the okay for passengers to unbuckle their seatbelts. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Lynné told both of the men that the worst part was over for her.

"How can you say that? It's all horrible," Liam moaned fretfully.

"I'm with Fusco on this one," Sands agreed. "The entire ride sucks."

"That's right," Lyn said with realization, "you never did like planes for some reason, why?"

Sands exhaled, trying to find a way out of answering her. There was none, he knew that. But his reason for the hatred he had towards planes was so stupid, so pathetic and dumb. Lyn's eyes were boring into him, that he knew and he was somewhat grateful he couldn't see her expression.

"Sands?" she asked, sounding slightly amused, "Why don't you like planes?"

He sighed again in exasperation, but finally responded to her question.

"Planes are nauseating enough, all right? But they're worse if I'm headed for a place I'd rather not be at."

"So you get air-sick?" Liam asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes," Sands admitted shortly. "There ya go. Now both of you leave me alone unless you WANT my breakfast all over you."

Needless to say, Lynné and Liam backed off.

"Christ, if that was a little turbulence," Sands muttered, putting a hand to his head, "I don't wanna know what a lot would be like."

"You and me both," the other two said in unison. Lyn smirked coyly up at her partner and Liam returned the grin with a small smile of his own. Sands turned his head in their direction, his eyebrows quirked bemusedly, but said nothing.

The plane Andréez Martinez had provided soared through the air without any problems, but it traveled slowly. It made its tedious journey out of Mexico and over the Gulf of Mexico, and Liam had yet to give himself a heart attack, Sands hadn't thrown up, though there were a few close calls, and as for Lyn, her seat now bore marks made by her fingernails.

Eventually, Liam and Lynné fell asleep and only Sands remained. He could not remember the last time he had felt so horrible. He felt as if someone had taken a baseball bat and bashed every inch of his body with it.

'_Which is a lie. I was just shot four times and had my eyes ripped out with a homemade dentist's drill._'

Because he had swallowed the bile that had rose up so many times, his throat burned and felt ripped and raw. The airplane had caused him to feel woozy and unstable, and the liberal amounts of blood he had lost didn't help.

'_Oh, Christ . . . if I make it through this, it'll be a fucking miracle._'

Suddenly, the urge to expel the contents of his stomach emerged again. Moaning quietly, Sands leaned back in his seat on the plane and waiting for awful feeling to pass. It WAS an awful feeling to experience: Unsure whether he was going to lose little food he had eaten or not, and how it seemed as though his very organs were trying to escape his body instead of his breakfast. Yeah, awful pretty much summed it up.

"Y'know what I just thought of ?" he heard Lyn say. Sands quickly covered up how startled he was; he had thought she was asleep. Very carefully, he opened his mouth to speak – upchuck wasn't Lyn's color.

"Hard to tell, what?"

He knew she was grinning wryly when she answered, "Alaska."

Her brother let out a short laugh. "That was how many years ago?"

"Ohhh, I dunno. I was about fifteen, I know that," she said. "Why did Dad decide to go to Alaska for vacation, that's what I wanna know."

"Well, he was never one for vacations, was he? WE were on vacation –"

"– us and that drunken woman he married and her two snotty kids –"

"– and Dad was there on business," Sands finished. "That's how it always was; probably how it still is."

"Don't know, don't care," Lyn said simply, and she leaned back in her chair.

Sands, after adjusting his sunglasses carefully, followed suit.

- - -

"You could've gone to Harvard or Yale, both schools accepted you, but no. You had to chose some go-nowhere little state college instead."

"Why do you care what college I attend as long as my grades are high?"

"I'm just saying I think you could have done better."

"And you've been saying that for the past three years," Sands informed the man at the wheel. "Get with the times, Dad." He pulled a cigarette out of his jeans' pocket and searched his coat for a lighter.

"Oh, I've seen the times, son," his father said, not tearing his eyes away from the road for one second. "And, quite frankly, I'm glad I'm not a part of them. Just look at your hair! And don't smoke that damn thing in my car!" He made to snatch the cigarette away but Sands quickly shoved it back in his pocket.

"Don't bring my hair into this," he said tersely, pushing a long, dark strand of hair behind his ear. It fell to his shoulders by now; he liked it and his dad hated it, which didn't bother Sands in the least. If he and his father ever agreed on anything, it meant the world was coming to an end.

"Well it's getting out of hand," his father continued angrily. "You look like one of those hoodlums I see wandering the streets every night."

'_Shit, hope he didn't recognize me. _'

**_Nah, you kidding? He doesn't notice people's faces, just the state of their clothing._**

'_And now, apparently, their hair._'

"And you should think of setting a better impression for your sisters –" his father scolded, but Sands abruptly cut him off.

"Don't go confusing titles, Dad," he said tensely, "Lyn's my only sister."

"You're stepsisters, then," said his father as if his little slip up was nothing.

"Oh? So Lyn's a lost cause?" Sands asked, with curiosity that fooled no one.

"Well, your sister's always been a little . . ." He trailed off into an uncomfortable silence. "She's not all there, Sheldon," he said finally, "We both know that."

"Wellll," Sands drawled, "maybe if you'd paid a little more attention to her when Mom died. . ."

"Don't start on that –"

"Why?" Sands demanded. "You don't seem to want to talk about your dearly departed wife, Dad, why not?"

"That was a long time ago –"his father began.

"Don't you have any feelings you need to express?"

"No, and I don't see what this has to do with –"he started to say, but Sands pressed on.

"I'd' have thought you would've wanted to vent a long time ago. Guess I was wrong," he said with a shrug. "Y'know . . . I don't think you were all that heartbroken about Mom, I really don't."

"How, how DARE you say such," his father sputtered angrily, though he seemed beyond anger now.

"That's it, isn't it? Come on, you can tell me. It'll be a little secret just between us: father and son.

"Oh, but . . . I'm really not your son, am I? Biologically, yes, but you don't really consider me your son, do you? No. Cuz I'm not like you, I'm not the younger version of yourself that you envisioned when Mom had me.

"Then you guys had another kid, and YOU planned on it being a the boy you always wanted. You got your hopes up. But guess what, Dad? It's a girl! Put away the blue cigars and bring out the pink ones, cuz it's a Lynné, not a Robert Junior."

Throughout Sands little talk his father remained silent. He was gripping the wheel of his flashy, expensive BMW so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. His face on the other hand, was a complete contrast of his colorless hands. It was now a boiling red color, letting his fury with his son show.

Despite how enraged his father looked, Sands smirked in satisfaction. After two years of studying the human psychiatric system, twenty-year-old Sheldon Jeffery Sands was almost an expert at getting under people's skin. He had always been rather gifted in that area, but several courses he was taking in college had really enhanced his abilities. Give him another two years and he could probably pass as a psychic, as well as a master manipulator.

Suddenly, the car began to slow down, and in a matter of minutes his father had pulled the vehicle over. Thick flakes of snow were beginning to fall softly on the already flurry-covered terrain. With a quick glance out the window, Sands turned to his father, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"Why are we stopping?"

"Get out," his father said sternly, his expression steely.

"What?" Sands asked, his voice hollow and disbelieving.

"Get out. If you're not my son, then I don't see why I'm carting a stranger around. So get out."

Sands stared at him, his expression disbelieving. Though he had to admit, if someone had pissed HIM off enough while he was driving down a deserted road, he would have thrown them out of his car, too. But still, this was fucking Alaska. His father hated him, but . . . ALASKA??

The next thing he knew, his door was being opened and his denim jacket was being grabbed. In his outrage, Sands hadn't noticed his father get out of the car and go around to the passenger's side. The man was now hauling him out of the BMW and chucking him into a snow bank.

"Three miles 'til our hotel," his father called from his seat inside the warm car. "You do the math, smart-ass. See ya later."

And he drove off, the wheels of the car kicking up snowflakes as he did. Sands stared after the car in disbelief as it quickly disappeared in the gathering snow and darkness. Seeing that he had no other choice since his father obviously wasn't coming back for him, Sands dusted off the snow that had stuck to his clothing after being pushed into a bank, and started walking down the road.

In the short time he had been out in the weather, his nose and fingers had already started to go numb, and his ears were soon stinging with cold. Blinking through the snowflakes that were clinging to his forest of eyelashes and thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Sands trudged through the thick, Alaskan snow, counting on the desolate highway to lead him back to the hotel.

"If I die of hypothermia out here, Dad, so help me GOD if I don't come back to haunt you . . ."

- - -

"D'you mind if I put on the news?" fifteen-year-old Lynné asked. Having just stepped out of the shower, she was wearing baggy flannel pajama pants and a black shirt. Dragging a comb through her long, damp hair, she explained, "There might be something interesting on."

"Doesn't bother me," her roommate and stepsister of fourteen years replied with a shrug as she unpacked her things.

Lynné had to admit that Grace wasn't a bad stepsibling. She was better than Catherine, who acted very much like her mother, Melinda, only she wasn't a drunk.

**_Not yet._**

'_Too true._'

Her father had remarried only a year after her mother had died in the car crash and soon there was someone to take up the role of mother in the Sands' household. Melinda was a tall, bony woman with brassy blonde hair that only the most expensive hairdressers could touch and ocean-blue eyes that Lyn was convinced were contact lenses. Along with her came two daughters. Catherine, the eldest of the pair, shared many traits with her mother. Conniving, sneaky, and always complaining was Catherine in a nutshell. She always had to know the newest bit of gossip that was flying around and, whenever she thought you weren't telling her something (as she often did), she would prod you until you either told the truth or made up some story just to get her to go away.

But Grace also came with Lyn's new 'family' and she wasn't too terrible. Grace DID like to know the latest story, but unlike her older sister she didn't spread it around if it was a secret. She was a very good person to talk to, though Lyn never went to her for help, but Lyn was never one to talk about her supposed feelings. Yeah, despite the fact that she never missed an opportunity to cry her eyes out, Grace was all right.

'_And hopefully she won't turn into a drunk._'

A sudden knock at the door interrupted Lyn's thoughts, but Grace got up to answer it, so Lyn didn't turn her attention away for long. However, Grace's sudden scream brought her back to Earth.

"What?" Lyn demanded, getting up off her bed. "What is it?"

She stopped short when she arrived at the door. The shivering figure of Sands was nearly frozen through and had its jacket pulled up over its head in an attempt to protect itself from the frigid weather outside. The snow that had fallen on him was now melting, drenching his hair and clothing, which did nothing for his all but frozen body.

"Oh my Christ," she gasped. "What happened?"

"D-don't ask q-questions, j-j-just let me i-in," Sands stammered. Lyn quickly grabbed her brother's arm and pulled him into the room, past Grace whose green eyes had already started swimming in an ocean of tears. Lyn forced him onto the nearest bed and Grace, after taking a moment to collect herself, picked up the room's phone and dialed the front desk.

"Hello, um, d'you think we could get a few more blankets and some hot tea for room 207?" she asked into the phone.

"Cof-ffee," Sands corrected.

"TEA," both Grace and Lyn said sternly.

"Have them up here as soon as you can," said Grace. "Okay . . . thank you."

"Don't tell me you were out there in that," Lyn said as she took Sands soaking denim jacket from him and replaced it with about four blankets.

"Ok-kay," he responded, his teeth chattering, "I won't."

"Oh," Grace cried in despair and sitting down beside him, "Sheldon, what happened to you?"

"D-don't c-c-call me th-that," Sands told her as sharply as he could in his condition.

Lynné wrapped another blanket around Sands' shoulders and quickly began to relieve him of his black biker boots.

'_His feet must be freezing,_' she thought worriedly.

After pulling off the socks, Lyn was breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Sands' toes weren't blue, a sign that he didn't have frostbite. Shrouding her brother's feet in another two layers of blankets, Lynné took up a seat on the bed as well.

Through his shivering, Sands looked at each of the girls he was sandwiched between. From Lyn on his right to Grace on his left, he saw that both of them were wearing looks of concern. This caught him as strange; he couldn't remember the last time a person had worried about him, let alone two people.

"G-got into a f-fight with Dad," he told them, still shaking uncontrollably. "Ab-bout the usually st-tuff, you know."

Grace, her face now blotchy and tear-stained, looked slightly perplexed, but Lyn nodded in understanding.

"M-must've pissed him off more than I u-usually do, cuz he threw me out of the c-car and d-drove off."

Placing a hand over her mouth, Grace just managed to stifle a gasp of horror, while Lyn's eyes merely widened in surprise.

"How far did you half to go?" asked Lyn.

"Th-three miles," Sands told her, drawing the blankets around him tighter.

"And you walked?" Grace asked in a hushed voice.

Sands nodded shakily and flexed his fingers, trying to get the feeling back into them. Every time he moved he felt thousands of ice-cold needles being driven into his skin, so he quickly abandoned that plan.

"Three m-miles, s-s-six hours," he told them. Lyn was shaking her head back and forth, her face contorted with fury. Her expression was not unlike their father's had been several hours ago.

"God, Dad . . . that –"Lyn started to say, but she never finished her insult. For the second time that night, a knock at the door broke rang throughout the room.

"That'll be room service," Grace said quietly. "I'll get it."

She rose from the bed and went to the door, her light-blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders as she did.

- - -

An arm reached across the first two seats in the isle, the seats sleeping occupants took no notice. The fingernails on its hand were highly polished and ended in white tips. Clearly, whoever owned the arm favored French manicures.

The arm stretched towards the third and final seat. Its hand was groping for the last person in the row of seats. At first glance, one might think that the hand wanted nothing more than to have its fingers wound around that person's neck, but no. Instead the hand went for the pair of dark sunglasses that were perched on the bridge of their owner's nose, completely obscuring anyone's view of the person's eyes.

"I'm sure he wouldn't want to be asleep wearing these," the arm's owner assured themselves as they reached for the black glasses that hid Sands' eyes (or lack thereof).

Suddenly, a second hand shot out and caught the grabbing arm by the wrist. The stewardess gasped in shock and stared, wide-eyed, down at what had taken a hold of her.

"And I'm sure you'd be wrong," Lynné Sands informed her, throwing one of her humorless smiles the stewardess's way.

"I was just –" the bleached-blonde woman started.

"– doing what you thought was best, I know," Lyn cut in. "But that wasn't your place, and I suggest you don't try it again any time soon. You never know what might happen." She released the stewardess's wrist and thrust it back at her. "Now, if it's not too much trouble –"she pointed to somewhere off in the distance "—piss off, Blondie."

- - -

_The end of another chapter. Actually, this isn't the last chapter that's gonna take place on the plane. The next one does, too. Although, it's really not on the plane per-say, but it kinda is. Okay, it is and it isn't, that make sense? Ah well. It'll be up very soon, so R&R ! _

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	15. Balancing Act

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Fifteen**: Balancing Act

Agent Liam Fusco acts like Ichabod Crane. (blinks) Seriously! I noticed that a few chapters back when everybody was feinting. He's really twitchy and squeamish and passes out whenever he sees blood – he's a bloody reincarnation of Ichabod, honestly. Well, save for his appearance. For some reason, whenever I picture him, he looks like this Orlando Bloom/Tobey Maguire mix. Eh, anyway . . . In this chapter, we get to see things from the lovely Agent Liam Fusco's point of view –

Liam: (looking quite pleased at this) That's right!

Sidney: Kinda!

Liam: (confused) What?

Sidney: See, I'm not exactly taking things from YOUR point of view. But we get to see a lot of you.

Liam: I . . . I thought everyone already saw a lot of me.

Sidney: Not really. No, actually, we see more of Lynné and even more of Sands. You're just kinda . . . there.

Liam: (eyes widen sadly)

Sidney: (hastily cuz she hates to offend) But that's exactly why I'm writing this chapter: the readers need to get to know you a bit more.

Liam: Oh. (brightens) -

Sidney: Kinda!

Liam: What? O.o

- - -

Liam sat on a bench surrounded by thousands of people. Where the bench was, exactly, was a mystery to him. He did not know who the people were either; every one of them seemed to have been waiting for something at one point, but they had grown bored and instead turned to their neighbors and began to chat animatedly with each other.

Upon closer inspection, Liam realized that the bench he was sitting on was one of many. The walls of the spacious room he was in were slanting inward towards the center of the room. The benches, he realized, were mounted on the slopping walls.

'_Staggered seating, _' he thought absentmindedly, '_That was Shakespeare's idea, wasn't it?_'

Then it hit him. The unbelievable amount of people, the size of the room, the staggered seats . . . the odd room he was in wasn't a room at all.

'_It's an arena,_' he realized. '_Well, this is certainly a new one._'

A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Once again, the people turned their attention back to the center of the arena. Three rings surrounded each other on the ground floor, and positioned in the middle of the innermost ring stood a figure bathed in an unseen spotlight. It was a man dressed in attire that was just as strange as the room. This man wore black pants, a fancy crimson dress coat, knee-high black boots, and a plain black top hat. Liam couldn't make out the man's features clearly – his back was turned away from the audience. Then, almost as if he had read Liam's thoughts, the man turned around.

Liam did a double take.

'_Sands??_'

There was no mistaking his fellow agent for another man. The man in the center ring smirked up at his audience, confirming Liam's belief that the person was most definitely Agent Sands. It couldn't be anyone else. Reaching a hand inside his impressive coat, Sands unearthed a microphone and held it up to his mouth.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," he said, drawing out the dramatic tension, "direct your attention to skyward."

Following Sands' instructions, Liam and the rest of the audience tilted their heads back until they were almost at an ninety-degree angle. High above their heads, a thin wire glinted in the spotlight.

"Kindly put your hands together for the lovely Lady Lynné: Mistress of the high wire!"

Liam's eyes widened in shock. Sure enough, there stood his partner at one side of the arena. She was wearing a rather risqué costume of red satin. Glittery silver sequins studded the outfit. Growing more and more nervous as he followed the length of the high wire, Liam estimated the distance that Lynné would have to walk.

"That is fifty feet, ladies and gentlemen," Sands told his audience without the slightest bit of concern for his sister. "And if she falls, it's an eighty-foot drop."

Liam just managed to stifle a wail.

'_Please let her use a net, please let her use a net . . ._' he thought frantically, biting down on his fingernails.

"And just to increase your heart rates," Sands drawled into the microphone, "she's going to do it without the use of a net!"

Slowly, Liam took his fingers out of his mouth.

'_I saw that coming, didn't I?_'

"Miss Lynné," Sands called to his sister at the high wire, "are you ready?"

Lynné replied with a smile and a cheery wave. The crowd roared with applause. People egged the tightrope walker on, urging her to start her deadly feat.

"Okay," said Sands, with a smirk towards the spectators. "Can we get a drum role?"

Obeying his request, a rhythmic drumbeat began out of nowhere, drenching the atmosphere with suspense. Liam watched in horror as his partner began to walk. Putting one foot directly in front of the other, she kept herself perfectly balanced as she made her way across the thin wire.

"Halfway there," Sands told the audience.

"Halfway . . ." Liam echoed, his eyes wide.

Through his terror, as strange as it may sound, Liam could have sworn that he seemed to be hearing what was going through Lynné's mind as she preformed her death-defying act.

'_Just doin' my job, ladies and gentlemen. Restoring the balance, remember?_'

"Only four more feet to go," said Sands, watching his sister with anticipation.

'_Four feet . . . she might make it,_' Liam thought, daring to sound hopeful. '_She just might make it._'

Out of nowhere, there was a burst of flames appeared on the tightrope. Liam gasped and searched frantically for Lynné, but then, to his horror, he realized that the fire that had suddenly grown out of thin air had appeared on the exact spot where his partner was balanced. The flames had swallowed the former CIA agent in an instant. It was so sudden . . . there was nothing anyone could do.

'_But no one's doing ANYTHING!_' Liam yelled inside his mind.

"Do something!" he shouted desperately to the crowd. "Someone, anyone – look at her!"

But the people around him did nothing except cheer the mistress of the high wire on. Liam stood there, rooted on the spot, with no means of helping his partner as she slowly burned before his eyes. He could only stand there and pray that she would be all right, though it seemed hopeless, the flames were too intense . . . He had seen Lynné do some very impressive things; she never ceased to amaze him. He had witnessed her coming out of situations that would have killed a normal person. Lynné, always refusing to go down without a fight, could go through Hell and come out the other end still standing. But, for the life of him, he couldn't see how anyone, no matter how undefeatable they may seem, could survive being engulfed in a blaze like that.

And then it was over as soon as it started. The seemingly unstoppable flames had died, leaving no trace of their existence, including Lynné.

'_Where is she!?!_' Liam thought wildly. '_People just don't disappear like that!_'

But they did, he remembered. His partner had disappeared for nearly three years, however, he had at least known where she was. Now . . . Searching the tightrope again and turning up fruitless, Liam sank back down onto his bench and buried his head in his hands. The crowd didn't know; they didn't care. She was gone, but that was nothing to them. They could always get another performer, just like the CIA could always get a new agent to replace the ones that had gone missing or had been killed. It was nothing to them, nothing at all. Even Sands seemed unfazed by the shocking turn of events.

"Did you see that, ladies and gentlemen?" he shouted excitedly. "How does she do it??"

- - -

Liam came out of his restless sleep slowly. Rubbing his eyes and shaking his head to clear his blurred vision, he glanced around him and realize that, for the first time, he was relieved to be on a plane. Turning to the seat next to his Liam was startled to see two large brown eyes staring up at him.

He thought of asking her why she was doing such a thing, but thought against it. Instead, Liam stared right into his partner's unwavering eyes. It was then that he realized that the dark orbs never blinked. Lynné's eyes were glazed over and contained a transfixed look.

'_She's asleep,_' he realized. '_My God, she sleeps with her eyes open . . .'_

A sudden dinging sound shattered Liam's thoughts and a voice over the unseen loudspeaker rang throughout the plane.

"Passengers, please fasten your seatbelts," requested the anonymous voice. "We will be landing in Washington D. C. shortly."

"Damn," his partner muttered as she stretched in her seat. "I'd hoped I would've slept through the landing – what?" she asked upon seeing the look on Liam's face.

"Nothing . . nothing . .." he assured her, sounding slightly dazed. Ignoring the puzzled look on Lynné's face, Liam suddenly became very interested in buckling his seatbelt.

He couldn't work out what his dream had meant, for it surely had some meaning. Liam tried to recall the events that had occurred within it; there may have been some hidden meaning contained inside them for all he knew. Then it came to him. There WAS. There was a meaning, a very plain, well-stated meaning in his dream.

'_Restoring the balance._'

Lynné was walking on a high wire, trying her best to stay balanced. Sands was in control as he always was, so it made sense that he was the ringleader of the three-ring circus that was Liam's dream.

'_I never died, I just got a little singed._'

Three years ago, Lynné had been the Operations Controler for their mission in Mexico. She was the one who was in charge of leading a team of CIA agents, setting up the right scenes, and watching the Barillo cartel fall. But before she knew it, the cartel had caught up with her. They had dragged her to off to some deserted ranch in the middle of nowhere; all the while she had been locked in the trunk of a car with nothing but the jeers and threats of her kidnappers for company.

But she had survived. How, was a mystery to Liam, but he wasn't about to ask her.

- - -

_It won't be a mystery for long, though. Everything will be revieled eventually. . . . . . unless I forget to reviele some things. o.o' I kinda have a tendency to do that. (frantically searches chapters to see of she skipped over anything). Ehhhhh . . . . Give me a moment, oy vey._

Liam: I do NOT act like Ichabod Crane. .u

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	16. Home Again, Home Again

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Sixteen**: Home Again, Home Again

Zigity zag . . . . Heh. But they're not really going home, are they? Nah. That won't happen for a while. (thoughtfully) It might not even happen in this story. . . . I dunno. I also don't know how long it takes to fly from Mexico to Washington D. C., either. Is there even a plane that'll do that? Well, Lynné conned Martinez into loaning her one of his private planes, so I guess it's possible. I think it would take about five to six hours, but only because the plane they were on was private and was traveling nonstop. Meh. Once again, I dunno. o.o

- - -

"After we get the bags, d'you want me to call a cab?" asked Liam, struggling to make his way through the throngs of people that crowded the airport.

"No. I've already got a ride," Lynné replied, slipping easily through the noisy crowds.

"Ride?" he repeated blankly. "When did you get us a ride?"

"On the plane while you two were asleep," answered Lynné.

"Six hours on that thing. . . six hours. . . " Sands said tiredly, being careful to follow the sounds of their voices so he would not become lost in the herd of travelers. "I wouldn't doubt it. Who's driving us?"

"The person waving the sign that says 'Corso' on it would be my guess," Lyn said mildly.

"What?" Liam queried, confused.

"Y'know," Sands told Lyn, "you could've at least TRIED to pick a better name."

His sister shrugged offhandedly not even remembering that Sands couldn't see her. Raising a hand, she waved at the petite blonde woman holding the sign. The woman in turn lowered her sign and, grinning widely, began to make her way through the swarm of people. Her bright smile stayed in place all the while she was pushing her way to the trio of CIA agents. Once she reached them, it still remained plastered on her face, but not for long. She smiled up at them for a moment, then, in a split second, she let out a wail of despair. The next thing any of them knew, she had flung her arms around Sands' neck, tears springing from her eyes.

"Jesus!" Sands yelped in shock, taking a staggered step backwards in an attempt to shake the woman off of him. It was a failed attempt; the woman clung to him harder still, sobbing mournfully into his shoulder.

"Ohh," she cried, tears still seeping out of her blue-green eyes and down her face, "when Lynné called and said there'd been trouble in Cullican, well, at first I was shocked that she was still alive, but, oh, I couldn't even think what had happened . . ."

**_Bet you could,_** the voice in Lyn's head thought darkly.

Lynné didn't respond but carefully began to pull Grace off of her brother.

"Down, girl," she ordered calmly, smirking up at Sands, who gently rubbed his arm after being removed of his burden.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Grace gasped apologetically. "I was just so worried . . ."

'_Don't be,_' Lyn wanted to tell her. '_No one else has ever wasted their time fretting over me. No reason for you to start._'

"Really?" Sands was asking sarcastically, still massaging his injured shoulder. "That is a new one."

"Huh?" Grace asked, confused.

"Um, mind telling me who this is?" Liam broke in tentatively.

"Oh," Lynné said with realization. "Liam, this is my . . charming stepsister, Grace. Grace, this is Liam, fellow CIA agent."

"Fellow?" Grace wondered aloud, sounding perplexed. "But . . . you're not CIA anymore, are you?"

'_No, I'm not CIA anymore,' _she thought sarcastically. _'Thank you for the reminder_.'

Automatically, Sands conjured up a mental image of his sister closing her eyes slowly in suppressed irritation and then opening them again just as slowly to say:

"Gracie," she said disdainfully, "a real agent never retires . . . they just take things a little easier."

Reaching into her small purse, Lynné withdrew a pair of dark sunglasses and shoved them on her face. Grace stared at her, her expression indescribable, seemingly lost for words. Sands, on the other hand, lit a cigarette and began smoking casually, waiting for the silence to dissipate. Liam, suddenly very interested in the dirty tiles of the airport floor, turned his eyes to the ground and shuffled his feet awkwardly. He had to bite back the urge to laugh or even smile at Lynné's comment.

"I'll go get the bags."

- - -

"Lynné," Liam began uncertainly, "when did you buy this place? I thought your only place was in Maine. How did you afford this?"

Lyn smirked.

"You think I spent my salary on booze and clothing?"

"Well," Liam responded, now feeling rather foolish, "that and your car."

"And hats," Sands added as he was led through the front door by Grace.

"Hats that you steal," Lyn replied, snatching the black bucket hat from Sands' head and placing it on her own. Her brother shrugged it off and said:

"Let me guess . . . two-story house, right?"

"You know I don't like one-stories," she replied matter-of-factly. "They just irk me. And there's a spare room on the first floor, so stop complaining before you start."

With another adjustment of her hat, Lyn turned and sauntered out of the room. Sands shook his head after her (or at least, he assumed she had walked away. Having no eyes made it a little difficult to tell, and Lynné's inaudible footsteps didn't help). Liam, having spent three years in the woman's. . .unique. . . presence, sympathized with him.

"I know how you feel," he said, a smile twitching to get out.

"I've given up trying to figure her out," Sands told him, still gazing off in the direction he had heard Lyn last. "Usually it's something I have . . . no problem with but with Lyn?" He shook his head again. "Impossible, improbable even."

"She's always seemed kind of evil to me," Grace put in, offhandedly pushing an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Well, she can't be too hard to figure out," Liam said to Grace. "She's just like him," he said, jerking his thumb towards Sands. The other agent arched an eyebrow as if to say, 'Hey, I know exactly what you're talking about but I am blatantly acting like I don't.'

"But that's nothing new," Liam told them, sounding somewhat worn out, as if he had had this same debate before. "What we don't know . . . is her MIND, how she thinks. What goes on in her head, no one will ever know."

"I don't wanna know," Sands and Grace replied simultaneously.

- - -

"Can I come in?"

Grace opened the bedroom door just enough to poke her head through. Scanning the room, she allowed her greenish-blue eyes to absorb the scene before her: Lynné was standing a few feet in front of her, her back turned, bent over the queen-sized bed as she sorted through one of her many bags of luggage.

Lynné's bedroom expressed the girl in no way, yet it was neither opposite nor unexpected. It was. . . . nice. Yes, Grace decided, it was nice. The floor was of a light brown color and, like the rest of the floor in the house, hard wood. The choice of flooring went very well with the walls, which had been painted a pale purple shade, the color of lilacs. Two vast windows bordered the eastern wall, opposite of the door Grace had looked through. They were each large enough for two people to fit through and she wouldn't doubt it if Lynné sometimes crept through them and onto the roof every now and then. If Grace recalled correctly, she had vague memories of spying her stepsister out on the roof of their house in Colorado. Whether Lynné knew that she knew or not was uncertain.

The peculiar thing about the room was it contained no pictures. There were no drawings, no artistic photographs, not even warm family photos. The entire house was like that, Grace noted, remembering the little self-guided tour she had taken a few minutes after her arrival.

"Um, Lynné?" she called uncertainly.

"You're head's already in," Lyn said lazily, holding up a gun so she could attach a silencer to it, "the rest of you might as well join it."

Awkwardly, Grace entered the room, her eyes wide at the sight of the gun. She was standing beside Lyn now, never taking her fearful eyes off of the other woman. Lyn waited for her stepsister to speak and continued working on her gun. Silence.

"You wanted something?" Lyn asked, continuing to load her gun.

"I, yeah," Grace stuttered before falling back into silence.

Closing her eyes in exasperation, Lynné sighed and lowered her weapon.

"And . . . ?"

"Oh, I, uh . . . well, you . . .you, when you called me from . . from the plane . . .you just said that Sands had been injured."

"And you want to know the details, that right?"

Grace nodded. Lynné sighed as she stowed her gun away and turned to face her stepsister.

"The cartel caught him," she explained steadily. "They were pretty pissed that he'd learned so much about them. So, after . . . punishing him as they saw fit . . . they let him go. With the condition he was in, I think they doubted that he'd be any trouble in the future."

"They were wrong?" Grace asked in an eagerly horrified way.

Lyn smirked. "What d'you think?" She didn't wait for an answer. "But Barillo sent several of his goons after Sands anyway. They shot him . . . three times. Twice in each leg, once in his arm."

Grace grimaced at the thought but kept quiet, waiting for Lyn to continue.

"But they got theirs," she went on casually.

"So did that bitch I was bedding, you failed to mention that part."

Both women turned to see Sands, sunglasses firmly in place, casually leaning against the doorframe.

"I assumed you would've rather told her that yourself," Lyn explained, "so I skipped it."

Sands raised an eyebrow from his position at the door and slowly nodded twice in reply.

"Um," began Grace, "Lynné was saying . . .err, um –"

"I know what she was saying," Sands informed her, sounding bored. "The cartel didn't impair my hearing."

Startled, Grace breathed, "What do you mean . . . ?"

"I thought you'd wanna explain that one too," Lyn said to Sands. "I know how you love being dramatic about things."

"Thank you, Lyn," he replied sarcastically. "I owe you one for that."

"Oh , you owe me more than one," Lynné told him. "But I can wait. Not for long, though."

"Would someone please tell me what happened!?" Grace cried out suddenly, sounding tearful again.

"Sorry, Gracie," said Sands, following the sound of his stepsister's voice, "Lyn has a tendency to distract men, even ones who can't see her."

"What . . . ?" gasped Grace, her eyes nervously darting from Sands to Lynné.

"Remember that bitch Lyn failed to mention?" Sands didn't hear a response, so he assumed Grace had nodded, either that or she was in too much shock to say anything. He continued, "Well, she got me a great souvenir to remember my trip to Mexico."

And then the sunglasses came off.

- - -

"I didn't know Gracie could scream like that," Sands said, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

"Mmm," Lyn murmured, gazing out at the star-speckled sky. The balcony on the second floor had a wonderful view even though the house was in the city. "Cry that much, yes. Scream that loud, no. Your sense of humor is so perverse, you know that?"

"Yeah." Sands smirked. "She was loud, wasn't she?" he asked.

"Liam thought one of us had shot her," Lyn told him, with a light laugh. "I'll bet he tripped at least twice the way he came barreling up the stairs like that."

"He did crash into the door," Sands admitted. "Good thing I'd moved out of the way . . . Where are they now, anyway?"

"Down in the kitchen drinking tea and discussing how terrible we are, I'm sure," Lyn answered thoughtfully.

"Yeah, that sounds like them," Sands said nodding slightly.

"Mmmhmm," Lyn murmured in response. "May I borrow that?"

She reached up and took his cigarette from him and placed it between her own lips. Inhaling deeply, Lynné gave Sands the feeling that smoking had been something she'd been dying to do for a long time.

"I didn't know you smoked," he said.

Lyn shrugged.

"I've been smoking since I was at least fourteen. I can't believe you didn't notice."

"Yeah, well," Sands said darkly, "my knack for noticing things hasn't been up to scratch lately if you know what I mean." He pointed to the dark glasses that hid the gaping holes where his eyes had once been.

"Wonder if they'd ever hit it off?" his sister wondered aloud after a moment of silence. "Grace and Liam."

"I didn't know romance was ever on your mind," Sands informed Lyn as she took another drag on HIS cigarette.

Lyn shrugged.

"You didn't know I smoked, either."

- - -

"I-I . . . I can't believe. . .oh my God." Grace shook her blonde head and took another sip of tea.

"I know," Liam replied. "It was so sudden."

"They both act like it's nothing," Grace said in hushed tones.

"Yeah, well, that's how they deal with things," Liam told her.

"I know," Grace said sharply. "I lived with them for about eleven years."

Liam backed off at the woman's uncharacteristic attitude. Eager for a reason not to speak again, he quickly took a swig of his tea.

"I'm sorry," the woman said quickly, seeing the look on Liam's face. "It's just. . . if you'd've seen that . . ."

"I did," Liam said quietly.

Grace put a hand to her mouth and whispered, "What did you do . . . ?"

Staring down at the dregs of his tea, Liam remained quiet. He really didn't want this woman to know he had fainted when she had merely screamed in horror. He didn't want anyone to know that. With worried contemplation, Liam remembered something Sands had told him quite a while ago:

'_I'm not saying this because I like you, because God – if there is one – knows I wouldn't think twice about killing you._'

Wait, that wasn't right. Sands always told him that. But there had been more . . . Sands had been going somewhere with his odd speech.

'_But the thing to know is . . . lie. That's it. No matter who you're talking to just . . . lie. Fuck it. Who cares as long as they don't know the truth, right? So LIE, Fusco. But not to me . . . cuz I'll know, savvy?_'

What did that word MEAN, anyway? Oh well. He'd look it up in the dictionary later. Right now, he needed to think of a convincing story and pray that Grace hadn't picked up some of Sands and Lynné's traits and learned how to tell when someone was being untruthful.

"I, umm," he began, clearing his throat, "I sorta . . froze up . . .and, ah, just-just stood there staring. It was horrifying but I . . I couldn't look away for some reason. . ." He trailed off, looking down at his hands, not wanting to meet Grace's eyes.

"Oh . . ." she said softly. "Oh, oh, right. . . yes. . ."

Liam sighed. Grace took another sip of her tea. Minutes passed.

"There's something . . . I have to tell you," Liam began cautiously.

Lifting her head abruptly, Grace looked up at him, her eyes wide and curious.

"Yes?"

"You cannot let Lynné and Sands know, not until I know a few things first," he stated firmly. "You see . . . I have a brother in New York . . .and he . . . he's a doctor and he's going to perform surgery. Now, it's a highly new operation, very dangerous, never been done before."

"What's he going to do?" Grace asked in awe.

"He, well, he has a patient who's willing to have the surgery –"

"Liam, what is he doing?" Grace cut in sharply.

"The patient is blind," Liam said finally.

Grace gasped. "Like –"

"No," he told her, "They were born blind. But they want to be able to see and so . . .my brother's going to try and make that happen."

"Is he," Grace began, "is he going to" – she swallowed hard – "to remove that person's eyes and . . . . and give –"

"Give them new ones, yes," Liam answered promptly. He sighed, closing his eyes wearily. "Like I said, it's never been done before and there's a fifty-fifty chance that the person will die."

"But there's a fifty percent chance they'll live, right?"

"Yes."

Grace stared down at her empty teacup.

"When . . . when will we know?" she asked softly.

"Tomorrow," Liam answered quietly, and he took another swig of his tea.

- - -

_This chapter seemed to go really slow to me. I don't know why cuz I had it written in about three or four days. And it's not like it's really short either. Hmm. I dunno. I just sorta had writer's block on this one. I seemed to take a lotta breaks while writing it. I'm really not sure how chapter seventeen's gonna go except that we're gonna find out how the surgery went. Maybe – arrgh, no, that'll be giving stuff away if I say it now, so I'll just shut up and leave. . . . . . . That's right. . . . . . I'll leave . . . . I'll just . . . leave. . . . . Um, bye! (runs away quickly) - - - - ------======o.o;;;_

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	17. Seven Years

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Seventeen**: Seven Years

Well, I'm officially on summer vacation. Hopefully that means I'll be able to get more chapters and stories posted –

Sands: Unlikely.

Captain Jack: I'll hafta second that, lass. The trigger-happy kid's got a point.

Sands: ò.o 'Kid?' I'm thirty-two and beg to differ, ah, "Captain." u.o

Jack: It's CAPTA—oh. Um, right, well . . . yeh don't seem to be capable of doin' any WORK on this ship, therefore, yer a kid. Live with it.

Sands: (annoyed) I'm NOT a kid.

Jack: Fine. Whelp, then. u.u (takes a swig of rum like it's nothing)

Sands: No, not a whelp either. .o

Jack: All right, then. Yer're a eun –

Sands: (whips out a gun) I wouldn't be making false accusations if I were you, "Captain." For all you know, you could be wrong, savvy?

Jack: (mildly surprised) How d'you know that word? ô.o

Sands: What do you mean 'how do I know?' I use it all the time –

Sidney: (always there to prevent bloodshed) Children . . . let's place nicely now, hmm? If not, I'm gonna have to take the noisy , dangerous toys away from you. u.u

Jack: Fine with me, luv. (drinks his rum calmly)

Sands: (grudgingly puts his gun back in his pants) ò.

- - -

"Your serve, Lynné. And you can't serve underhand this time. It's gotta be over; otherwise, you'll never learn."

"Fine," eleven-year-old Lynné Sands called to her father from across the tennis court, "but I'm tellin' ya, we'll be here 'til noon if you want me to do that."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take, dear, now serve."

The preteen sighed, annoyed, but raised her tennis racket and tossed the small, neon green ball into the air. As if it had suddenly been put into slow motion, he watched the little sphere rise and fall. She eased her racket forward, took a swing . . . . . and missed.

'_Damnit!_' she cursed silently. Eleven or not, the girl swore . . . a lot, but she was wise enough to restrain herself in front of adults. Until the day she was old enough to use such language, that is.

"You've gotta hit the thing, Lynné!" her father yelled from the sidelines. "Don't just wait for it!"

"Yeah, yeah . . ." Lyn muttered under her breath. She took her time, scooping the little ball back up and bouncing it on the court a few times, doing all of this just to annoy her father as well as Catherine, her opponent, who sighed in disgust from the other side of the court. Lynné smirked and silently congratulated herself on aggravating her stepsister.

**_Yeah, yeah, good job,_** a small voice in her head agreed, giving a bored little golf clap. **_I think dear Sheldon is beginning to get annoyed too, however, so you might wanna pick up the pace a bit, Beatrice._**

'_I think I asked you not to call me that?_' Lyn replied calmly. She had been hearing the voice for the longest time. She was not sure when it had first shown up; it had just spoken to her one day many years ago and had been getting more prominent as time went on.

**_You might have,_** the voice said mildly, knowing full well that she had. **_I'm not sure._**

'_Well now I'm telling you,_' Lynné snapped silently. '_Don't call me Beatrice. That name sucks._'

**_What d'you want me to call you then?_** the voice demanded, slightly irked. **_You can't be Lynné cuz I'm not gonna be Beatrice._**

'_Why not?_' Lyn asked snidely.

**_Because Beatrice is a stupid name!_**

'_Ha!_' Lyn crowed triumphantly,_ 'You admit it!_'

"While we're YOUNG, Lynné," fourteen-year-old Catherine yelled suddenly, letting her irritation show. Beside her, Sands of sixteen years rolled his eyes. He didn't care for waiting in the heat anymore than Cat did, but if he got a chance to see said stepsister vexed, it was worth it.

"Okay!" Lyn shouted back, raising her tennis racket once again.

"C'mon, Lynné, you've gotta hit it this time," Grace pleaded beside her. "They're five points up and you only get one more chance to serve after this."

This is why she hated playing doubles. For some reason she was always weighed down by pressure whenever she had a partner for a game. It wasn't as if she felt like she had let anyone down if she cost them a win, she just felt . . . annoyed. Yes, annoyed because there was always someone next to her to rattle on about how they had to win, and how important winning was, and how if they didn't win it would be just awful, and just plain winning in general. Lyn didn't like losing, but she didn't like being pestered either.

"Cat's playing really well today," she heard her younger stepsister mutter frantically. "I'm not sure why . . ."

"Isn't it obvious?" Lynné asked, getting ready to throw the ball into the air. "She's partnered with Sands."

Grace stared blankly as Lynné swung her racket forward and sent the ball flying over the net.

"She has a thing for him," Lynné explained offhandedly.

"Oh," Grace said as she bent back and watched Sands hit the ball with ease and send it pelting back in their direction. Her older sister actions caught her attention. Cat was eyeing her stepbrother with great interest as he raised his arm to take a practice-swing. If Sands noticed, he didn't show it.

"And the only reason Cat's interested in my brother," Lyn continued, taking another swing at the ball, "is because she thinks he looks like Johnny Depp on that show, _'21 Jump Street_.'"

"You think?" Grace asked, confused.

"Yeah," Lyn said, sending the ball off in the other direction.

'_I don't know why I'm doing this,_' she thought disgustedly,'_I like badminton better, anyway._'

**_Me too,_** the little voice in her mind agreed. **_'Specially when we get to hit the birdie. Heheheh . . . hit the birdie, hit the birdie!_**

'_Shut up! D'you want them to think I'm crazy?_'

**_Yes._**

'_You suck, y'know that? You really do._'

**_Well, come on. You gotta admit that 'hit the birdie' is MUCH more fun to say that 'hit the ball.'_**

'_Okay,_' Lyn reluctantly agreed. '_You've got a point there._'

**_Mmmhmm,_** the voice murmured absently, then, **_God, how does she play so well when she never takes her eyes off HIM?_**

Lynné's eyes scanned the tennis court for whatever had outraged the voice so much. It didn't take her very long to find out. Cat was now lowering her racket, but she was still ready to hit the ball that was soaring in Lyn's direction. Her eyes darted continuously from Sands to the ball as she tried to see if he was watching her. It was only then that Lyn noticed how short her stepsister's crisp, white, spotlessly clean tennis skirt was.

'_Oh that is it,_' she decided firmly, narrowing her eyes. '_She's fourteen and he's her stepbrother—that's just as bad as if he were her REAL brother._'

**_Too true,_** the voice mused, **_What say we fix that little problem?_**

The ball was getting closer.

'_Hmm . . ._' Lyn pondered silently, _'the head or the mouth? Either one would be good._'

**_Go for the mouth. That'll shut her up._**

'_But if I hit her in the head, I could knock her out,_' Lyn pointed out.

**_Hmm, that's true, but you don't know if you'll knock her out for sure. You DO know, however, that you could do some damage if you hit her mouth, so I suggest you aim for that._**

The little green tennis ball was getting closer still. Lynné began to get ready to hit the ball just as she heard her stepsister say:

"Hey, Shel, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a trail ride when we're done here."

'_Ohhhh,_' Lyn crooned mockingly, as she watched Cat twirl a strand of hair around her finger. '_I'm sure he'd LOVE to, sweetheart, but somehow I don't think you'll be up to it._'

The ball was only about a foot above her now. Smirking mischievously, Lynné raised her racket. The voice inside her head began to cackle uproariously and she was the only one who heard it.

- - -

"Poor Catherine," Sands sighed with sympathy that fooled no one. "And I was going to take her up on her offer to go riding, too."

"Well, you're riding with us," his sister pointed out, reaching down to stroke the mane of her chocolate-brown pony. "That's better than nothing."

"That wasn't funny, Lynné," Grace said from atop her own, creamy colored pony. "Cat could've been hurt –"

"She WAS hurt," Sands and Lyn both said, exchanging looks.

"I meant hurt bad!" Grace snapped and her pony tossed its head fretfully.

"Yeah, and you'll be hurt bad if Cat ever finds out you took her pony," Lyn smirked.

"Well," Grace began uncomfortably. "I don't have one of my own and won't until I'm twelve, so . . .so I'm allowed to use Cat's if I want to."

"So long as Cat doesn't find out," Sands said, grinning wryly.

"She likes you, you know," Grace told him, eager to change the subject. Beside her, Lynné rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, I know," Sands said darkly.

"Don't you like her?" Grace asked curiously.

Sands looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Guess not," she said quietly.

"Exactly," he replied before turning to Lyn. "I should thank you," he told her. "I'd be out here with Cat if you hadn't sent that ball flying at her mouth."

"Oh, it hit her right in her mouth?" Lynné asked, pretending to look surprised and ignoring Grace's scowl. "I couldn't tell from all the way on the other side of the court."

"Yeah . . . lucky she didn't get any blood on me," Sands added as an afterthought. "Red on white doesn't come out easy. She did try to, mind you."

"She was looking for help!" Grace cut in so shrilly that her pony whinnied nervously. "And YOU backed away from her!"

"I didn't want to . . . injure her further," Sands said casually, "You never know what could've happened."

"You're just saying that because you don't like her," Grace continued angrily.

"You do?" Lyn questioned idly.

"I . . .well, sh -- I . . ."

Sands and Lynné smirked down at their small stepsibling.

"Oh, shut up," she said finally, glaring straight ahead of her and refusing to look at either of them.

Fast-forward sixteen years, and in her sleep with her eyes wide-open, twenty-seven-year-old Lynné Sands grinned wickedly at the memory.

- - -

"Hello, could I speak to Doctor Fusco, please," Liam whispered feverishly into the phone.

"Doctor Fusco is busy at the moment," the whiny secretary on the other end replied.

"But this is urgent!" he cried desperately. "I need to speak with him!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the secretary without a trace of remorse, "Doctor Fusco has just completed a very complicated surgery and cannot be disturbed."

"But that's what we're calling about!" Grace broke in, snatching the phone from Liam's hand.

"Sir, Ma'am," the secretary sighed, annoyed. "the doctor has had a very long day and has requested that, under no circumstances, that his rest be interrupted."

"I can think of something that would be reason enough," said Liam in his most threatening voice.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," said the secretary sarcastically. "Try me, why don't ya?"

"Maybe we will," Grace snapped warningly. Covering the receiver of the phone she asked mouthed to Liam: 'Is he married?' The agent shook his head. Grace tried again. 'Engaged?' This time, Liam nodded.

"Margaret Emighy," he said, pronouncing the last name like the first name 'Amy.'

A smile spread across Grace's face as she said into the phone, "Perhaps if we told you that his fiancée, Margaret, wanted to talk to him, you would be kinder."

The secretary paused, considering.

"Well then, 'Margaret,'" she said, emphasizing the name, "When're ya getting married if you're his fiancée?"

Liam, for once thinking ahead, had scribbled down the scheduled marriage date on the tablet that Lynné always kept next to the phone. Now, he held it up for Grace to see.

"There is no scheduled date," she said as she read what the pad said. "We're putting off our wedding for a while."

Another pause on the other end of the line, then –

"Well, all right, I'll put him on," the secretary said finally, "but I'm tellin' ya he isn't gonna be happy."

"That's a risk we're willing to take," Liam informed her, once again taking the phone. "Please, put him on."

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the faint hold music to hear. It was the voice of Meredith Brooks that came over the phone:

_I hate the world today._

_You're so good to me,_

_I know but I can't change._

_Tried to tell you,_

_But you look at me like maybe,_

_I'm an angel underneath,_

_Innocent and sweet._

Liam and Grace looked at each other and back at the phone, confused as the woman continued to sing the one song she was famous for:

_I'm a bitch, I'm a lover,_

_I'm a child, I'm a mother,_

_I'm a sinner, I'm a saint,_

_I do not feel ashamed._

Unbelievably, Liam suddenly exclaimed, "I know this song!" and began to sing along with the strange hold music.

"_I'm your hell, I'm your dream,_

"_I'm nothing in between,_

_You know you wouldn't want it any other way."_

A light punch in the shoulder from Grace brought the agent to his senses. A good thing to, for at that very moment the hold music was abruptly cut off and replaced by the tired voice of Liam's older brother, Adam.

"Margaret?" he asked blearily.

"Uh, no, not exactly, Adam," Liam told him, slightly embarrassed.

"Liam?" the other man asked, surprised. "Why're you calling?"

"Um, how did the surgery go? That's what I wanted to know."

On the other end, Adam sighed.

"Not so good," he answered after a moment. "It was . . . unsuccessful."

"What, are they still blind?"

"No," Adam sighed wearily.

"They didn't die on the operating table, did they?" Grace gasped suddenly.

Adam seemed somewhat surprised when he asked, "Is that her? Your volunteer's sister?"

"No," Liam answered vaguely, "No, no, well, sorta, this is his stepsister. He and his real sister are still asleep."

"Oh," Adam said, "Well, to answer her question . . . um, yeah, yeah they did . . ."

Liam closed his eyes slowly. Grace bit her lip.

"It . . . it was blood loss," Adam tried to explain. "They, uh, they lost too much blood, obviously, and, um –"

"Died on the spot," Liam finished quietly, staring at the floor.

"But it wasn't our fault," his brother continued hastily, "Not – not entirely. So . . . they're gonna let us try it again, the only problem is –"

"You don't have any one to experiment on," Grace finished breathlessly.

Liam swallowed slowly before asking the question that he and Grace both wanted to ask:, but before he could say anything, someone beat him to it, and it wasn't Grace or even Adam.

"Would he like a volunteer?"

Sands was standing on the other side of the hallway, having just staggered out of bedroom. Liam silently kicked himself for forgetting that Sands was sleeping on the first floor. He and Grace both stared at as the CIA agent stood with one hand placed on the frame of his bedroom door in order to stay balanced. He was looking at them with an expression of interest, curiosity, and triumph at having caught someone while they were in the middle of doing something secret.

"Well," he drawled brightly, "would he or wouldn't he?"

- - -

_First off, I felt I had to get that little flashback in there for some reason. I'm not sure why, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get it out of my head until I did. Plus, it made the chapter longer. Second, the title of this chapter sort of fits with the flashback because, while I do not know WHY the song is called 'Seven Years' it is yet another Norah Jones song and, if you listen to the lyrics, it is another one that, to me, fits Lynné rather well. I won't do it here, but I will post the lyrics to all of the songs I mentioned in this fic in the last chapter if anyone wants. And I'll mention what chapters the songs were mentioned in so everyone can go back and confirm if they want and spare themselves of confusion. :-)_

_One more thing before I go. Betcha didn't think Sands would figure out Liam's little plan before Lynné did, huh? I've gotta admit, I debated who would find out first, I really did. In the end, I decided on Sands simply because . . . well, his bedroom was closer. End of story._

_Oh, and the song 'Bitch' belongs to Meredith Brooks aaaaand . . . that's all I have to say about that. u.u_

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	18. Perché non Dormire Più

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Eighteen**: Perché non Dormire Pi

(in awe) Eighteen chapters . . . oh my gods . . . wow. And to think I was getting hyped about writing nine chapters. Seems like nothing now, really. And, as I stated earlier, I believe, I'm now on summer vacation and therefore have even more time to write. =D I'm just glad everyone has been sticking with this fic for so long, albeit, to me it seems like things are going fast. .

- - -

"Uhhm, Adam," Liam said nervously into the phone, his eyes still on Sands, "I'll . . . I'll call you back . . ."

"Tell him you'll get back to him in ten," Sands told him, "That's how long I'm allowing you two to clear things up a bit."

"I'll call you in . . .ten," Liam told Adam.

"And make sure you tell your secretary you're expecting a call from us," added Grace, who didn't look nearly as fearful as Liam did. Perhaps she was used to Sands and how dangerous he could look when he was kept in the dark.

'_In the dark, right,_' Liam thought grimly, hanging up the phone. '_That's what we're trying to get him out of if he would just cooperate . . ._'

"Fusco?" Sands called tauntingly, "The clock IS ticking."

"Perhaps the kitchen would be best," Grace suggested, taking Sands by the arm and guiding him carefully through the door that led from the living room to the kitchen. "I'll make coffee."

Liam wasted no time in rushing after them and seating himself at the small kitchen table. Sands sat across from him, resting his elbows on the table and leaning on them carefully so as not to test the wound in his arm.

"So," he began conversationally, "there's a doctor."

"My brother," Liam explained hastily. "He's trying this new type of surgery –"

"So he's experimenting is what you're saying," Sands cut in. Liam fell silent.

"Yes . . ." he said after a moment, "Yes . . . see –"

"No."

Liam flinched but pressed on, "He's trying . . . he's . . ." He stumbled for the right words but came up empty.

"It's reanimation . . . of organs . . ." Grace explained as she set a cup of coffee down in front of Sands. Liam nodded vigorously.

"He thinks it'll be a success," he began but Sands interjected smoothly.

"What's this I hear about a patient dying?"

Liam winced again and cleared his throat distractedly.

"Um, yes, about . . . that . . ."

"Yes, about that," Sands said pleasantly. He leaned across the table, trying and succeeding to intimidate the other agent. "What about that?" he asked in a dangerously calm voice.

"It was blood loss," Grace informed him, once again coming to Liam's rescue.

"Oh," Sands said mildly, "well, I'm familiar with that having had six holes put into me over the last three days."

Grace gave a shuddery breath of despair, but said nothing else. Lifting his coffee cup with both hands – he didn't think his left arm could support it by itself – Sands continued.

"So, the patient died on the operating table due to blood loss –"

"– not the surgery," Liam assured him.

"– which was brought on by the surgery," Sands finished, looking over his cup at Liam but seeing nothing but darkness.

"Well, yes," the other agent admitted fairly, "I suppose that IS true, but Adam made it sound like the surgery wasn't the cause of it."

"Maybe it was an allergic reaction to the medicine they injected and that triggered the blood loss," Grace suggested. "Although I've never heard of such a reaction . . ."

"Believable or not, it's a much nicer theory than the one about the surgery going wrong," Sands pointed out. He took another sip of coffee, letting the warm liquid flow throughout his insides. He was freezing again – '_Damn blood loss_' -- and was grateful for anything heated.

'_I'd better not be getting sick again,_' he thought bitterly, '_I'm getting just a little tired of this on and off shit._'

"Well, about the surgery," Liam began testily, "Adam thought that he, well, he . . . his patient was blind," he stated suddenly, not wanting to have Grace bail him out again. "They were born that way, and they had tried many treatments but none of them had worked.

"Then they heard about my brother, Adam, and about his new . . . experiment. They said that they were willing to try it, and Adam agreed but . . . when they went into surgery today . . ."

"They danced that last tango in Paris, right?" Sands asked placidly.

Liam nodded, forgetting that the man across from him was incapable of seeing his actions.

"So, what's the plan?" Sands asked abruptly. "You two signed me up as a potential volunteer for Frankenstein's shot at reanimation, telling him that I was ready and willing to go through with his little experiment, that right?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Grace answered quietly, tracing her finger along the rim of her cup. "Although we didn't sign you up for it. We just told him that we knew someone – no names, of course -- who might want to try the surgery. That's all. It's up to you whether you go through with it or not."

Sands fell into silence. Staring down at the table, but really seeing nothing, he was running through everything in his head. He had seen too much, gotten too close . . . the cartel had caught him, taken him to some building in God Knows Where, and strapped him down to a table . . . He had listened as Ajedrez told him how she had sold him out . . . betrayed him . . . all for her father . . . Barillo . . .. Doctor Guevera stood next to him, holding something he must have whipped up in his spare time.

At first he thought it had been some sort of drill, like the kind dentists used, but . . . as he dug deeper into his mental inventory, he remembered that it had been a drill, but not the kind he was thinking off.

**_It was a corkscrew, that sick fuck. He took a corkscrew, powered it up somehow so it'd spin around on its own, and stuck it riiight into your --_**

'_Shut up, shut up, shut the hell up,_' Sands ordered his thoughts feverishly. '_I know what they did, I don't need reminded of it._'

But the thoughts came anyway. He couldn't stop them. The dam he had been building over the past four days finally broke, allowing every little thing he did not want to think about escape, and for once, he had no control over it.

First went the left eye, then the right eye; each one just as painful. They had let him go, after all, gunfighter or not, he was blind, what harm could he do? A lot. He shot three of Barillo's thugs, getting himself shot three times in the process but that didn't matter . . . then, she had shown up. She had shoved his sunglasses back on, they had fallen off whenever he had been shooting the cartel members . . . He listened as she taunted him, toyed with him, messed with his mind. She was very good at that; he had to admit it. She had managed to manipulate the master of the craft; he gave her props for that before he shot her.

Everything else was hazy; Sands had no visual memory of what had happened on the Day of the Dead after a wine bottle opener had been dug into his head. But Lynné had shown up . . . taken him back to her place . . . and gotten him out of Mexico, something he had planned on doing for her. Instead, it was the other way around. Funny how things work out.

And now . . . now his fellow agent and his stepsister were telling him about some doctor who thought he could bring back what was dead. He could take eyes, eyes that someone had donated, . . .stick them in his head . . .and hope for the best. Oh, there were some side effects to go along with this little experiment, too. He could regain his sight, he could remain blind but this time he would at least have eyes, or he could die, there was always that option.

**_Decisions, decisions . . ._** the voice muttered mockingly.

Liam and Grace were still there. He could hear them, smell them, feel their presence . . . if there was one thing he had to thank Barillo, the cartel, and Ajedrez for . . . it was how loosing his eyes had enhanced his remaining vital senses significantly.

**_I'll remind you to send them a fruit basket,_** the voice told him. **_Oh wait, scratch that. They're dead!_**

Ignoring the voice, Sands suddenly snapped out of his broodings and looked up from the table.

"When do you think he'd be able to do it?"

He tried to sound as though he was just throwing the question out there without making it seem like he was even the slightest bit interested in Doctor Liam's Brother and his experiment.

"I'm not sure." It was Liam who answered. "I'll – I'll have to call him back and ask."

"You do that," Sands replied tiredly, bowing his head and hiding it in the palms of his hands.

"Sands?" Grace asked, sounding concerned. "Are you okay? You don't look so good."

'_Well, I dunno about that, Gracie, but I sure as hell feel like shit,_' he thought in a falsely cheerful voice. Out loud he said:

"I'm fine . . ."

He heard Grace get up and push in her chair. He followed the sounds of her footsteps as she walked around the table and stopped at his side. His stepsister snaked a hand through his arms and placed it against his forehead, noticing that he was covered in a cold sheen of sweat.

After she withdrew her hand, Grace bit her lip and shook her head.

"Has he been like this since you left Mexico?" she asked Liam.

"Um, well, the night of the Day of the Dead he started getting like this," he attempted to explain. "Then the next day, but that was because –"

"– that bastard, Miller, shot me," Sands said sharply to the table, his head still in his hands.

Grace gasped and looked from Sands to Liam.

"CIA showed up," Liam translated. "They were looking for us, some shots were fired . . ." He trailed off, impulsively rubbing the shoulder Agent Miller's bullet had hit. "Nothing, uh, major . . . Then that same night, the night before we got on the plane, Lynné said he was sick again . . ."

"It comes and goes," Sands told them carelessly. "Sometimes I'm fine, sometimes I'm not."

"Well, this is one of those times," Grace said matter-of-factly, taking Sands by the arm and carefully easing him out of his chair. "How much have you eaten in the last four days, by the way?"

"Lunch Friday, then the cartel got a hold of me so I didn't get anything else –"

"Not even after you'd escaped?" Grace asked, looking outraged.

"I know," Sands said, worn out but still managing to stay sarcastic, "You'd think that if guys like Barillo were nice enough to drill your eyes out with an electric corkscrew, then they'd be able to feed you as well, but no."

Grace sighed, worried.

"What about after that?"

"Nothing until late Saturday night," he said, "but then we were getting on the plane the next day so I didn't want to eat a lot . . ."

"Then we ordered take-out when we got here," Liam put in. "But the stuff we got wasn't exactly good for you."

"That's right," said Grace, narrowing her blue-green eyes. "I wouldn't have suggested fast food if I'd've known all of this."

"Why?" Liam asked, looking confused.

"Well, anyone should know that lack of sustenance makes a person we -- tired," Grace said, with a nervous glance in Sands direction. Her stepbrother showed no sign that he had heard her near mistake, so she continued. "Plus, you said he was shot four times and" – she looked sadly up at the dark glasses that hid Sands' injury – "I can't imagine how much blood he's lost. So," she continued, shifting so she could support Sands better. The man was beginning to sway uneasily, and she knew he wouldn't want to fall over in front of her and Liam. "No real nourishment for four days, combine that with loss of blood . . ."

Sands moaned softly and placed a hand to his head. As he swayed dizzily, Grace gnawed on her lip, looking as though she was going to cry again. Liam desperately hoped she wouldn't. He was terrible at dealing with anything that involved tears.

Liam looked desperately around the room, searching for something -- anything -- that would help him. The answer came flying through the kitchen door just as he was about to give up. He couldn't help but look relieved even as Lynné glared up at him and demanded to know what was wrong with everyone.

"I cannot believe you let me sleep that long," she was saying, one hand on her hip, the other waving around in the air haphazardly. "I can't believe I actually slept that long. What is wrong with you people? D'you know, this whole household is fuc—"

"Um, Lynné?" Grace called pleadingly.

Lynné started to turn around, perhaps armed with a sharp-tongued remark, but her irritation vanished and her eyes widened considerably when she saw what was behind her. In her cloud of calm vexation, Lynné had stormed through the door of the kitchen and straight up to Liam, not noticing that her brother was nearly an inch away from collapsing.

Now, she rushed over to Sands and quickly swung his arm around her shoulder, much to the relief of the noticeably smaller Grace. Sands drew in a sharp breath, wincing a bit as his wounded arm was jostled by the sudden movement, but made no other sign of pain save for his shallow breathing.

"What happened?" she asked severely, her eyes narrowed.

"Nothing, Lynnie," Sands murmured quietly, "I'm f—"

"Don't say you're fine," Lyn told him sharply before turning to her stepsister. "Grace, what's going on?"

"Well . . . with all the blood he's lost, plus the fact that he hasn't had a lot to eat . . ." the other woman's voice faded as she adjusted Sands' other arm carefully around her own shoulders.

"How . . ." Liam began, there was something that had been nagging him about the woman for the past few minutes. ". . . how d'you know all of this?"

"I'm a doctor," Grace answered distractedly as she felt Sands' pulse. "It's slow, but he should be all right if we get him to bed right away," she told Lyn, who nodded.

Together, the two young women half-led, half-carried Sands back to the bedroom.

- - -

"Here."

Sands felt Lynné gently shaking his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. He sat up carefully, feeling as though he was back on the plane instead of in bed. Suddenly, Lyn took his hand and gave him a mug of some unknown lukewarm liquid.

"What is it?" he demanded, suspiciously.

"Tea, just tea," she answered, rolling her eyes.

"You know I don't like tea," Sands said. He attempted to glare but after finding out that it made his head pound, he quickly stopped.

"Yes, but Grace said that it'll help," Lyn informed him, "so drink up, yo ho."

"Not you too," Sands muttered, grudgingly raising the mug to his lips.

Lynné quirked an eyebrow. "What d'you mean by that?"

"Nothing." He waved her off, taking a sip of his tea. "Did Liam tell you about his brother's experiment?"

"Yeah," Lyn said after a moment, "yeah, he did . . . . . . .. .So," she sighed, "are you gonna do it?"

"I could die, you know."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding, "but are you gonna do it?"

Sands sighed, handing her the mug he had just drained. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Lynné absentmindedly drummed her fingers along the side of the mug, seemingly lost in her own musings. Sands leaned back against a small mountain of pillows, deep in thought and trying to ignore the fact that his body was begging and screaming for sleep. Finally, he knew he couldn't fight the urge much longer.

"Tell Liam to call his brother," he murmured finally, "and find out what he has to say about this."

- - -

Lynné dropped onto the couch as she watched Liam walk over to the phone, pick it up, and dial his brother's cell phone number.

"Is he still asleep?" he asked while he waited for someone to pick up.

"Mmmhmm," Lyn replied, once again absorbed in her copy of '_The Da Vinci Code._' "Have you," she said suddenly, looking up from her book, "ever heard of a song called '_Nina_?' It's Italian."

Liam frowned as the phone continued to wring but said to Lynné, "I don't think so . . . who's it by?"

"That's the thing, no one knows," she told him, frowning slightly, "which is really unfortunate because it's a nice song."

"What's it about?" Liam asked, narrowing his eyes at the phone as it continued to ring.

"Uhh . . ." Lynné closed her eyes and tilted her head back in an attempt to jog her memory. "Okay, the basic idea of the song is that there some girl, Nina, and she's sick – love-sick, more specifically – and she won't get out of bed, which is distressing her lover who happens to be the person singing the song."

"Oh," Liam said, looking mildly bemused, "what made you think of that?"

His partner held up her book for him to see.

"Da Vinci," she said shrugging. "Plus my dear brother is much in the same position as Nina is, so that may have had something to do with it. The only thing is . . . I just – can't – get – that goddamn song – out of my head."

Liam nodded but said no more to Lynné. At that very moment, Adam seemed to have finally decided to answer his phone.

"Hello?" he said, yawning.

"Adam?" Liam demanded urgently.

His brother yawned again. "Of course."

"Where were you?"

"Liam!" Lynné looked up from her book, aggravated. "Get to the point; never mind where he was."

"Okay, OKAY!" he shot back, looking both worried and slightly irked. "Adam, we need to know, how slim are a person's chances of surviving this?"

He heard Adam sigh on the other end.

"They have about a fifty percent chance of regaining their sight, twenty percent chance of staying blind, and a thirty percent chance of . . . well, you know."

"Death, yes," Liam murmured. "Okay . . . what about dates? How soon d'you think you can do this?"

"Uhhh . . . about . . . a week, I'm sure, but you should get your volunteer here as soon as possible because we'll need to see just how bad their eyes are before we even THINK of performing the operation."

"He has no eyes, fuckmook," Lynné snarled quietly from her seat on the couch. "That bad enough for ya?"

Liam waved at her to be quiet and she obliged, albeit, not without muttering a few choice curses under her breath.

"We'll also need to run some tests," Adam continued, not having heard what the ex-CIA agent had said.

"Tests?" Lynné repeated, raising her eyebrows at Liam. "What sort of tests?"

"Uh, Adam," said Liam into the phone, casting a nervous glance back at Lyn, "could you be a little more specific when you say 'tests?'"

"Sure," Adam replied, "uh, it's just your basic physical examination, really. Y'know, blood test, hearing examination, we have to make sure that there aren't any allergic reactions and that the patient's health is up to scratch."

Liam exchanged an uneasy glance with Lynné, who gave him an 'oh-well-what-happens-happens' look before turning her attention back to '_The Da Vinci Code_.'

"Uh, okay, sure," Liam said, still looking a bit apprehensive. "We'll . . . we'll . . . we'll talk this over with him and, um, if all goes well . . . we'll see you in a couple of days."

"All right," Adam said, sounding slightly suspicious. "Hope to see you soon, then. 'Bye."

"'Bye," Liam responded distractedly."

"Ta," Lynné called from the couched, seeming unperturbed by the information they had just gained. Liam rubbed his injured shoulder unconsciously again, contemplating everything his brother had told him. Something was bothering him about this whole plan, and he knew exactly what it was.

"Why do I get the feeling that Sands is going to be difficult?" he asked his partner finally.

Lynné looked up from her book, smiled passively, and posed the simple question:

"When is he not?"

- - -

_Okay, that's done. A surprisingly short amount of time, too. Well, like I said, I'm on vacation so I have a lot more time now. Oh, and I don't own the song 'Nina,' by the way. Like Lyn said, no one knows who wrote it, sadly. Though it's a very popular song in Italy from the opera 'Three Silly Suitors.' The strange thing about the song (aside from the mystery of who wrote it, at least) is the fact that in the opera it is sung in, no one in said opera is named Nina nor does the song have any real connection to the plot. Funny ol' world, innit?_

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	19. A Break in the Storm?

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Nineteen**: A Break in the Storm

I'm not sure where the dream sequence in the chapter came from. Really, I'm not. I _do _have a story to back it up though! (looks proud of herself then quickly deflates) But it won't come for a while . . . Well, until that time, um . . . enjoy chapter nineteen, guys! And the freaky dreamy-ness, too!

- - -

He knew that noise. It was a threatening sound, one that chilled him to the very depths of his being. High, cold, and rattling, the sound continued, ricocheting off of the walls, bouncing around the room until it surrounded him entirely. And it kept coming, never stopping, growing louder with every second. Or maybe it had only sounded once and all he was hearing was its echo and nothing more. No, if it was an echo, no matter how loud the noise had been, it would have stopped by now. He had to see where it was . . . . find the source of the noise . . .

Instantly, Sands' eyes snapped open and he realized that he wasn't inside a room, but out in the middle of nowhere. It was a canyon, he realized, not a very large one but a canyon all the same. All around him the air was thick with heat and dust. Sands tried to breathe but inhaled a gust of dirt instead. Gagging and choking, he tried to stand, ignoring the sharp gravel as it dug into his arms and knees. He was nearly up when he heard it again. The chilling, rattling sound reverberated throughout the canyon, sending his thoughts spinning.

Twisting around, Sands found the cause of the noise laying just a few feet behind him. There, coiled up and shaking its tail threateningly, was a rattlesnake. One of the largest he had seen so far, and growing up in Colorado, he had seen quite a few of the poisonous serpents. Its tail was the obvious cause for all of the noises he had heard. It was the only sound in the entire canyon, and it only meant one thing: the snake was vexed, and it was going to strike.

Sands swallowed the growing lump in his throat and steadily began to back away. As he edged further away from danger, the snake unwound itself and slowly slithered after him. It wasn't going to give up easily.

'_At the risk of sounding cliché,_' Sands thought, trying not to panic, '_neither am I._'

**_Too bad you don't have a gun with you. Woulda been neat to see its head blown off, don't ya think?_**

'_Yeah, whatever,_' he replied, continuing to back away and never taking his eyes off of the snake. '_Fuck!_'

Sands stopped, he had not been able to see where he was going without looking away from the snake. The results: cornered. The snake had caught him at a dead-end and soon the rocky wall he was pinned against would live up to its title.

The serpent opened its mouth, unhinging its jaw to make its bit bigger. Sands' eyes widened as he saw the two venomous fangs that were hanging from the snake's upper jaw. The snake hissed, its tail rattling dangerously. His eyes feverishly scanning the terrain, Sands knew he was out of options. He had nowhere to go, nothing to ward the snake off with, he was trapped.

The snake hissed, reminding him that it was still there. Its tail shuddering horribly, it crouched low, ready to pounce; prepared to sink its two inch-long fangs into his flesh. Closing his eyes in a horrible grimace, Sands braced himself for the attack.

Gasping and panting for breath, Sands shot up in bed, staring wildly around for danger. Propping himself up on his elbows, Sands glanced around. The snake was gone, as was the dusty canyon he had been trapped inside of. Breathing fast, he felt as though he had just fallen thirty feet and landed on top of his bed. But it wasn't his bed, he noticed, as he continued to take in the scene around him, though he had slept in this bed many times. Turning his head to his right, Sands looked down at the woman who was lying next to him.

As if sensing she was being watched, the woman opened her brownish-rusty colored eyes slowly. When she saw Sands looking down at her, a small smile passed over her face.

"Anything wrong?" she asked, looking every bit the concerned lover.

"No," Sands answered, laying down again this time making to wrap his arm around her. Ajedrez moved away.

"I thought you forgave me," Sands said.

"I forgave you for being late with the information," Ajedrez corrected.

"So you forgave me," Sands said slowly, "I'm sorry, but somehow I had the idea that forgiveness meant you were no longer mad at me."

"I forgave you, yes," she said, nodding, "but I'm still mad at you. Not for being late, though."

Sands arched his eyebrows. "Oh?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm mad at you for leaving me alone with HER while YOU went out and had your tequila."

"With lime," Sands couldn't help but add. He smirked, but when Ajedrez rolled her eyes and glared at him, he pulled a serious face that should have fooled anyone else. "What did Lyn say and/or do now?"

Ajedrez shrugged nonchalantly and said, "We got to talking after you had left. I said some things, she said some things . . . nothing the other wanted to hear. She started going on about what she was doing here in Mexico – "

"Restoring the balance?" Sands guessed.

"Si, that," said Ajedrez with another roll of her eyes. "I told her my thoughts on that, then she pulled out a gun and took a shot at me."

To her surprise, Sands didn't seem at all shocked by his sister's behavior. Ajedrez looked at him expectantly, but he said nothing and stared at her, waiting for her to go on.

"She missed, as you can see," she continued, annoyed at her boyfriend's lack of response. "and you would think that you would be more relieved at that knowledge."

Sands shrugged and said simply, "Lynnie's always like that, niña. She may take a shot at you, but she doesn't mean any harm."

Ajedrez stared at him in disbelief for a moment.

"Are you defending her?" she demanded quietly.

The smirk was back on Sands' face in an instant.

"Of course not . . . I'm just . . . explaining my sister as best as I can. Now, while she may seem a bit dangerous, for the most part, she'll all right. Although . . . I wouldn't recommend making enemies with her."

"Mmm," Ajedrez murmured thoughtfully as she leaned into the curve of his body. "Does it run in the family?"

"It depends . . ." Sands replied as she turned over to face him. "on who you are and what you can do."

"Really?" she asked, running a finger along his collarbone casually.

Sands smiled diabolically, watching her as she leaned in to kiss him.

"Yeah . . ."

- - -

Sands awoke with a start. Shaking his head to clear his fogged mind, he reached a hand up to run his fingers along the edge of one of his empty eye sockets. A sharp stinging sensation told him that he was truly awake this time and not caught in the past or deep within the realms of some confusing nightmare.

With a sigh, Sands tilted his head, waiting for the sounds around him to tell him what time of day it was. It didn't work. The honking of cars, whirring of wheels, and screeching of brakes went on constantly in New York City, no matter what the hour. He'd have to rely on temperature, then.

It was cold. Yeah, that helped. When, aside from the times he was soaked with heat, wasn't he cold? Besides, hotels were always icy for some reason.

**_Yeah,_** his voice mused thoughtfully, **_they ARE always cold. What's up with THAT?_**

'_Couldn't tell ya to save my life,_' Sands told it calmly.

Picturing the voice sticking its tongue out at him, Sands smirked, much to the voice's chagrin.

**_Where the hell is everyone anyway?_** it snapped, irked and definitely wanting to change the subject.

'_Gee, I'm not sure,_' Sands replied, his tone falsely concerned. '_It's kinda hard for me to tell, ya know?_'

**_Oh fuck off._** And the voice went silent, brooding.

'_Maybe I should,_' Sands thought, more to himself than the voice. '_That's what everyone else seems to have done._'

"Oh," came a voice, sounding slightly surprised, "you're awake."

'_Well, not everyone._'

"Lynné, what are you doing here?" he asked aloud, sounding bored.

"Funny," his sister replied coolly, "I was under the impression that this was my room as well as yours. Apparently I was wrong."

Sands shook his head, glaring up at her.

"You're never wrong."

"Don't remind me," Lyn said. Though her words were meant to be light and sarcastic, Sands felt certain he had detected a hint of bitterness behind them. But maybe he was just imagining things.

**_Don't bet on it._**

'_I thought you were off in your corner sulking?_'

"Liam's out scheduling an appointment to see his brother," Lyn was saying, "and Grace has gone" – she sighed with heavy disgust – "shopping."

"Shopping?" Sands repeated, his eyebrows raising a fraction.

"Shopping." She sighed again and shook her head. "I suppose it's her way of letting off tension. The more stressed she is, the more she'll shop."

Sands grinned wryly.

"Bloomie's won't know what hit it."

"Mmmhmm," Lyn murmured in agreement, though she seemed somewhat distracted. Sure enough, the distinct sounds of someone rummaging through suitcases and duffel bags filled the air, confirming Sands' suspicions. Even though he felt certain Lyn was in search of something, he didn't say anything in case he was mistaken. But when Sands heard his sister mutter, "Goddamn it – where is that thing . . . ?" he couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"What're you looking for? Guns?"

"You know I'd never loose something like that . . ." she said bemusedly.

"What did you loose, then?"

"You know that blonde wig of mine?" Lyn sighed.

Sands paused for a moment, thinking. Finally he said, "The one that makes you look like Marylyn Monroe?"

He was sure Lyn rolled her eyes when she answered him.

"No, no, the other one."

Sands shrugged.

"Couldn't tell ya, sugar-butt."

Lynné halted in her search for her missing wig to turn to Sands, a cold smirk forming across her face.

"Thanks a lot, cheese-dick."

- - -

Sands flinched involuntarily as a nurse stuck a hypodermic needle into his arm, injecting him with a toxin that would ward off possible infections. He had never liked needles, and, after having one driven into his neck, he wasn't too keen to have it done again. Anywhere. Unfortunately, Doctor Liam's Brother had insisted on giving him three different shots the first day he saw him. Two would fight infections, the other was used to draw his blood for testing.

"Sorry," the nurse muttered hastily when Sands glared at her as he rubbed his arm.

"There," Liam's brother said calmly, pulling on a pair of laytex gloves, "that wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

Sands replied by raising his hand and extending his middle finger in the direction of the doctor's voice.

'_Why do they always say that after they give you shots? I'd like to see him take three at a time._'

The voice started to say something, eager to point out a flaw in what he had just said, but Sands cut it off abruptly.

'_Not – one – word._'

"Well," Adam said briskly, "I guess I should tell my brother that's it's safe to come in now. . . . He and his . . ." He trailed off, looking curiously at Sands.

"Partner," he answered shortly.

The doctor's eyes widened in surprise (the nurse standing next to him looked slightly put off, but brightened again when she began regarding Sands in a new light).

"Oh?" Adam asked, trying to keep his voice light and causal. "And when did this . . . happen?"

Sands would have rolled his eyes if he had any.

"Since they were both sent to Mexico together on a mission for the CIA. Hence, PARTNERS."

"Oh," Adam said again, now looking somewhat disappointed. His nurse had yet to realize that she had been wrong in thinking that Liam wasn't available – she was still gazing at Sands. Still looking rather disheartened, Adam opened the door to and stuck his head into the small waiting room outside his office. There, sitting on two plastic chairs just outside his door, was his brother and the woman he could only assume was his patient-to-be's sister. She was a rather attractive woman: average height, slender, just shapely enough. She shared many noticeable facial features with the blind man in his office, save for the fact that (unless she was hiding two gaping holes behind her sunglasses too) she still had her eyes. The only thing he couldn't figure out was her hair. It didn't seem to fit her at all. In fact, if he hadn't known any better, he could have sworn that her long, loose, golden-blonde curls were fake.

"Liam? Miss Sands?"

The two both rose from their seats and followed Adam into his office. Inside, Sands was rolling the sleeves of his shirt back down, scowling at Adam the entire time. Lynné, noticing this, just managed to overcome the urge to snicker, her blonde curls bobbing up and down as her shoulders shook just the slightest bit. But she composed herself so quickly that no one even noticed. She shouldn't be laughing, anyway. After all, she didn't like needles any more than Sands did. Instead, she turned to Liam's brother and spoke.

"So," she began conversationally, "what's the diagnosis? Is this going to be easier, harder, somewhere in between . . .?"

Adam cleared his throat, casting a nervous glance in Sands' direction.

"Um, well, the person we first preformed the surgery on, ah, already had their . . eyes, so it . . it, the operation, was much more complicated," he continued, more strongly than before, "but since he . . . he lacks that . . . quality . . . it will be. . .easier. Yes."

Lynné uttered a soft "Oh" of understanding and nodded her head.

"The only question is," Adam said carefully, turning to Sands, "are you willing to go through with it?"

Sands sighed, turning his head towards the three of them.

"So what are my chances?" he asked, not waiting for a response. "There's a twenty percent chance of staying this way, a fifty percent chance of regaining my eyesight, and a thirty percent chance of death."

He sighed again, and continued in a would-be-causal voice.

"Well, what're we waiting for?"

- - -

_Hmm . . . I dunno, but something tells me that there should be more to that. I'm glad I got the flashback with Ajedrez written, though. Something (and I'm sure it's not Sands this time 9.9) has been bugging me to write that one. .O Oh, and I'm nearly ninety percent sure that there IS a reason for the dream about the snake. (mysteriously) Waaaait aaaaaand seeeeeee . . . ._

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	20. Bells are Ringing

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Twenty**: Bells are Ringing

Comin' down to the end, gang. My estimate is that there are going to be three chapters left to this story. Probably. I'm not sure, that's why I said 'my estimate.' u.u In any case, I hope you're ready for procrastination, cuz you just know that's what I'm gonna do. Watch as I create suspension and anticipation while drawing out the moment until Sands goes into surgery! Mwahahaha! D

- - -

Sands panted slightly as he sat down on the couch the hotel had provided for their room. He wasn't surprised that he was both physically and mentally exhausted. Even though it had been a week since the Day of the Dead, doing something as simple as getting out of a taxi, entering a hotel, taking a ride in an elevator to the seventh floor, and walking to his hotel room wore him out entirely. He hated being so tired all the time. Sands didn't DO tired, but now, apparently, he did, and it was annoying the hell out of him.

Beside him, he felt Lynné take up a seat on the couch as well. Liam sighed when he dropped into a chair on the other side of the room. And Grace had yet to return from her shopping spree.

He was about to ask Lyn and Liam whether or not either of them had noticed that, despite the fact that HE was the one about to partake in a dangerous experiment, he seemed calmer than the two of them combined. However, Sands never got the chance to because a distinct 'click' told him that Lyn had just turned on the television.

'_The news, how much do I wanna bet myself . . . ?_'

". . . and in recent news . . ." the way too cheerful anchor man said brightly.

'_I was right._'

"The governor of Colorado seems to have won all of America's hearts with the tragic story of his missing children."

Lyn groaned and closed her eyes dramatically. Liam looked at her questioningly.

"What's wrong? Do you know him?"

His partner gave a hollow laugh.

"We're old friends."

"Governor Sands' chances for reelection are certainly looking high now," the announcer was saying. Liam's eyes widened.

"He's . . . he's not –"

"'Fraid so, Fusoc," Sands said flatly.

Ignoring the stunned look on her partner's face, Lyn said:

"Well, that explains a lot."

"What?" Liam asked, staring at her, wide-eyed with shock.

"He's running for a second term as governor," she explained, "and Sands and my mysterious disappearance is JUST the thing to up his popularity ratings, savvy?"

"It is?" Sands asked, pretending to sound both shocked and hurt. "Oh, gosh, and here I thought he had finally learned to care for us."

- - -

"He . . . he AGREED!? He actually agreed to go through with –"

"Yes, yes, now shush," Lynné ordered, casting a sideways glance in the direction of Sands' bedroom. "He's asleep and can be a real asshole when disturbed."

Beside her, Liam nodded vigorously. Grace raised an eyebrow.

"I – I just can't believe he's going to do it . . ." She stared at the floor; for once her eyes were free of tears.

"Just for . . . curiosity's sake . . . you didn't think he WOULD go through with it?" Lynné asked blandly.

"What – no! Well, yes . . . in a way . . . yes."

"Mmm," Lyn murmured, nodding once in skeptical understanding. "Did you buy out all of the stores in New York while you were shopping?" she asked, eyeing the innumerable amount of bags Grace had deposited in the living room.

"No," her stepsister insisted defensively. "I only hit about one quarter of the designer stores today."

Lyn shook her head in amusement.

"And your rich-girl persona lives on . . ."

Grace glared at Lynné for a moment, the desire to hurl an unaffecting insult at the woman growing ever stronger. But she decided against it, not wanting to give her stepsister the pleasure of knowing that she had gotten under her skin. Instead, Grace asked:

"When's the surgery scheduled for?"

"Week from today," Lyn answered promptly.

"Today's Thursday . . ." Grace said faintly.

"So it'll be next Thursday," Liam said quietly.

- - -

Her father smiled warmly at her when she entered the living room of her Colorado home – house. Home just never fit with the building; the word 'home' implied 'family,' something she couldn't say she had ever had.

"Darling, I have wonderful news," he said, rising from the couch to greet her.

'_Oh shit,_' she sighed silently, '_he only calls me by affectionate names whenever he wants me to do something that will help his career._'

Forcing a smile just as he was, Lyn beamed at her father.

"Yes, Daddy?" she asked brightly, emphasizing the last word.

Her father's smile flickered in the slightest bit. Only Lynné took notice.

"Sweetie, how would you like it if I told you I could give you something you've always asked for?"

Resisting the desire to squeal, 'You got me my own pony!?' Lynné went for a simpler yet more affective response.

"Well gee, Dad, I can't exactly RECALL ever asking you for anything. Even if I had, I'm sure you would have calmly ignored my requests." She smiled up at him pleasantly.

Her father continued to grin but she still heard the note of annoyance in his voice when he said to her, "I think we may have found the answer to all of your problems, honey."

Lynné raised an eyebrow, her face expressionless, but said nothing.

"How would you like to meet a friend of mine –"

"Ah, wait, he isn't one of these old, bald guys that'll get YOU places but in order to do that, I have to woo him first, is he?"

Her father feigned a cough, rubbing the spot where his hair was thinning impulsively.

"No, actually, he's the SON of one of those men, sweetheart –"

"And you want me to woo HIM? That it?" Lyn shook her head, smirking humorlessly. "Well, gosh, Daddy, I . . . I don't know what to say, I mean, if that isn't father-daughter cooperation I just don't know what is."

Her father ignored her comment and continued onward, Lyn getting the impression that he had rehearsed everything, knowing that she would be less than willing to participate in any of his little schemes.

"Now listen, honey, this deal could be big . . . for the both of us." He paused to see if he had gotten the effect he had been going for, but all he got was a pair of raised eyebrows from his daughter. His ego not shattered in the least, her father pressed on.

"I just need you to take the boy out –"

"Boy?" Lyn threw daggers with her eyes.

"—take the boy out, and show him a nice time."

'_And a little skin, I'm so sure,_' Lyn thought acidly.

"And remember," her father continued, pointing a finger at her warningly, "any slip-ups, any little mistakes, anything of the sort –"

"Dad," Lyn interrupted, holding up a hand to silence him, "I get it. I've done your little errands before, I can do them again. Just as long as they don't result in anything too extreme."

"What d'you mean?" her father demanded. "Beatrice Lynné Sands, if that man wants to share intercourse with you, you better damn well give him what he wants!"

"All for you . . ." she said faintly. "I would give up my virginity . . . for YOU . . ."

"You lost that years ago," her father spat angrily, "You and I both know that."

It was hard to tell which face showed more hatred as Lynné and the soon-to-be governor of Colorado, her father, seethed with rage.

"Now get ready," her father commanded, composing himself once more. "He'll be here in half an hour."

Scene Four: Many Months Later

'_Just as long as they don't result in anything too extreme._' Fuck that. Things were beyond extreme. Things had gone past extreme and there was no chance they were going back.

Lynné never liked weddings. Correction, she HATED weddings. She hated them with a loathing that ran so deep it was almost impossible to find it. Although the reason for her hatred made perfect sense to all of those who had attended the same weddings she had. Each and every one of them had gone horribly for Lynné, and so she wasn't keen to attend another one. Especially when that wedding happened to be her own.

Everything was set. The bridesmaids, Catherine and two friends of hers, Claire and Vanessa, looked stunning in their dark purple gowns. And Grace, the maid of honor, looked just as lovely. They had a ring bearer and a flower girl – both annoying little snot-rags from her stepmother, Melinda's side of the family. There was the best man, Brandon; he looked nice. And then there was the groom. The necessary piece that made the fractured and phony puzzle that was this wedding whole.

Lynné had to admit he was rather attractive, and she could stand to be with the man for ten whole minutes before wanting to rip his tongue out and strangling him with it. She could say that she'd only been able to do that with about four people. And now it would be five. That was progress.

Her husband-to-be, Tim, stood there, beaming at her as she looked into his warm, gray eyes. He stood there in his black tuxedo; a little red rose bud tucked into the buttonhole near the top.

'_We couldn't have used pink or orange roses, could we?_' Lyn asked silently. '_No, of course not. That would mean doing something with the wedding that _I _might like._'

Tim smiled, hell, he practically glowed as she made her way down the isle. Past the seemingly endless rows of people, past the staring eyes of his family and her . . . acquaintances, occasional relatives, whatever you preferred to call them. Anything besides family would do.

And of course, where would they be without the bride? The bride, the bride the bride . . . here she comes . . . taking her grand old time, too. Lynné shook her head, wondering how the hell she had gotten herself into this. '_Just as long as they don't result anything too extreme._' Extreme? Like she had said, fuck extreme. Things had past that point, SHE was the bride after all.

Her father had offered to escort her down the isle but she had refused. If anyone was going to lead Lynné Sands to her doom, it was going to be someone she actually liked. Well, since her friends and Grace were all bridesmaids it couldn't be any of them, so she would have to settle for Sands.

**_Oh settle for him my ass. You wanted to walk with your brother and you know it. Personally, I don't blame you. I'm no fan of Sands, but he's at least better than your father._**

'_OUR father,_' Lyn hissed, '_He's your burden, too, don't forget that._'

**_Voices in people's heads don't have fathers, dear,_** the voice told her, bored. **_Don't forget THAT._**

Her smile held firmly in place, her arm looped through Sands' arm, Lynné walked slowly down the isle, looking as pleasant as could be. She saw Grace, crying as usual, Cat, smirking triumphantly as Lyn kissed her freedom goodbye. Claire and Vanessa were doing a good job of hiding their concern for their friend with big, falsely proud smiles or happiness. There was her father, wearing a grin that was a replica of Cat's and her stepmother, Melinda smirking just as broadly, for once, Lyn was mildly surprised to see, without a margarita glass in her hand.

Sands looked down at her for one brief moment. But when he saw that his sister was set on getting to the end of the church without turning back, he turned his gaze straight ahead.

Lynné finally made it to the end of the isle. Sands let go of her arm, though no one would know he was reluctant to do so, and allowed Tim to take hold of it instead. Lyn suppressed a flinch. The priest smiled down at Lynné and Tim as the couple exchanged a smile. He opened his book, though he knew the message he was going to deliver by heart, and the ceremony began.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the holy matrimony of Timothy Johnathan Rhodes and Beatrice Lynné Sands . . ."

Lynné winced inwardly. They just HAD to say Beatrice, didn't they . . . . ?

- - -

Absentmindedly twirling the plain gold ring in her fingers, Lynné stared out at sun as it slowly sank, turning the sky brilliant orange and pink colors.

'_At least it knows what color roses I like,_' she thought distantly.

Turning her gaze to the little ring in her hand, Lyn sighed. She was disgusted at everyone. Her father, of course, was the one who received most of her disgust, but she was even sick of herself. Just a bit, though. Lynné Sands wasn't one of feel remorse. Then again, she should be feeling somewhat guilty. She had, after all, led an innocent man to believe she loved him; led him into thinking that she was going to protect, honor, and obey him for as long as they both would live.

Lyn snorted. Yeah right. She could never see herself doing anything like that. But he did love her.

**_Ohhh, he loved your LOOKS, let's face it._** the voice sighed, annoyed. **_You know no one would ever love the cold, heartless bitch that you've become. It's just not logical._**

'_Gotta agree with ya there,_' Lyn thought in a grimly satisfied way. '_It's like they say: life's a bitch, and then ya marry one._'

**_Yes,_** the voice said in agreement. **_you're a manipulative, unfeeling bitch, Beatrice. Who in their right or even wrong mind would love THAT? _**

'_That's where you're wrong,_' Lyn said calmly. '_I am not a bitch._'

**_Oh come off it,_** the voice started to say.

'_No,_' Lyn thought defiantly. '_You see, there is a very fine line between being a strong-willed, fierce, independent, opinionated woman . . . and just being a total bitch. I'm walking that fine line right now, and I know that's a risk._'

**_Oh, fuck you--_** the voice began, but it was cut off once again by Sands. Lyn turned around to see her brother pushing open the door to the balcony of the 'rustic' yet ritzy lodge they were all staying at for the weekend. Inside, Lyn could hear the sounds of the wedding guests dancing, drinking, and just having a good time as the DJ started playing another hit song over his sound system.

Sighing quietly, Lynné turned her attention back to the sunset. Sands watched his sister for a while, taking in the strange sight of seeing her in a wedding dress and looking this defeated. The beautiful white gown swirled around her as the mountain air blew. As he watched her running her wedding ring between her fingers, Sands wondered vaguely if Lyn would be bothered if it happened to slip from her fingers and go tumbling into the forest below them, all hopes of ever retrieving the ring lost.

Sands strode over to his sister. Leaning against the railing of the balcony, he pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his tux and lit up. He expected Lyn to regard his actions and shake her head in amusement, but his sister continued to gaze out at the evening sky. Finally, fed up with the silence, Sands spoke.

"Nice ceremony."

"Mmm."

"You looked good, anyway."

"Mmm."

Oh, so they were gonna do this, were they? Not a chance, Sands would make sure of that.

"So," he began, casually taking a drag on his cigarette, "having second thoughts?"

Finally, she switched her attention to him, though her expression stayed the same.

"Gee, Sands, I never knew you were a mind-reader. Ever think of going into the telly-psychic business? I hear they make big bucks doing that."

"Well, I thought about it, but then the CIA just seemed more of my style, y'know?"

"Yes," Lyn said nodding, "Mister Screw-the-Government-I'm-a-Rebellious-Adolescent, I can really see you joining the CIA."

Sands shrugged, a stream of smoke trailing from his mouth.

"Would you rather I joined the FBI? Or I could be a cop, how would you like that?"

"CIA's fine," Lyn said, waving him off, "Go nuts, I don't care."

Sands sighed as another ribbon of smoke filled the air. Lyn returned to her sunset.

"So," he stated plainly, careful to keep his voice light, "do you . . . wanna get out of here?"

"And go where, Sands? Where would you like to go?"

"I dunno. Anywhere. Come back whenever you feel like it."

Lyn raised her eyebrows, beginning to realize where her brother was going with this.

"What if . . ." she said slowly, "I don't FEEL like coming back for a long time?"

"How long is long?" Sands asked curiously.

Lyn shrugged. "Oh, I dunno, few hours . . . days . . . weeks, months, year or two . . . all depends on my mood."

Sands smirked down at her, putting out his cigarette and flicking it off of the balcony.

"Let's go."

Grinning wryly, they slipped through the massive crowd of party guests easily. Surprisingly, they weren't even stopped by someone wanting to congratulate Lyn on her marriage for the eighty-seventh time. Unnoticed by all, Sands and Lynné exited the lodge and made a break through the parking lot to Sands' car. Sands started the ignition, pulled the car out of the lot, and they make their escape, driving off into the beautiful sunset.

- - -

_I had to be part of my aunt's wedding this past Saturday, so if that explains the flashback about the wedding, I'm glad I helped. =) Really, I just wanted to express how much of a jerk Lyn and Sands' dad can be. We already got a look at how he treats Sands, so I wanted to get Lynné in there as well. Like I said, only about two or three chapters left, guys, so stay tuned! _

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	21. Tension

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Twenty-One**: Tension

Ooo, here we go . . . 'Tis the night before Sands goes into surgery. (cackles evilly) The anticipation is killing you, no? Mwahahahahaa! Okaaay, probably not, but I can dream, can't I? Right. u.u (evil once more) Ooo, suspenseful . . . . D

- - -

Fear was not something Sands was accustomed to. To be perfectly honest, he couldn't remember the last time he's been so terrified. For once he didn't know what to do; he wasn't in control and that scared him. But he couldn't loose his head now, not when he was the only one around who could do anything.

Twelve-year-old Sands scanned the land around him but saw nothing that would aid him in the least, unless dust, dirt, and rocks could double as treatment for snakebites. Beside him, six-year-old Grace was crying her eyes out, her face already red. White streaks shown through the red blotches where her tears had ran down her cheeks. She seemed to have lost it entirely, but she was his only hope.

"Grace," Sands said sharply, his voice steady and commanding, "go back to the house and get help now. Take one of the horses."

The little girl did nothing but stand there, crying uncontrollably at the small seven-year-old girl who was lying on the ground, bleeding profusely from her right arm. Lyn wasn't crying, but her breathing was fast and sharp, and when she spoke, her voice was higher than normal and her words came out short.

"Go," Sands ordered, rounding on Grace. "NOW."

Terrified at how threatening her stepbrother now looked, Grace squeaked and jumped on her horse at once. The next second, she was gone in a cloud of dust and hoof beats. Sands turned his gaze back to his sister. Lyn had put a hand to her chest, panting. Her eyes were tightly closed.

"Lyn?" Sands said quietly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He didn't want to alarm her.

"What?" she gasped, still not opening her eyes.

"Grace's gone to get help," he told her somewhat lamely.

"I – know," she panted through gritted teeth. Suddenly, she hissed in pain as white-hot arrows shot throughout her arm. "Stupid . . . snake . . ."

"It's gone."

Lyn nodded, still looking pained. Sands swallowed hard, his eyes wide.

"Lynnie," he said nervously.

"Don't you lose it, too," she warned, taking in sharp breaths of air, "I mean it . . . Sands. I'll kill you . . . if you . . . . freak out on me . . . now."

"I'm not!" Sands said defensively.

Lyn opened her eyes to glare at him, but ended up widening them in shock. A breath caught in her throat. She gasped, choking, but not taking her horrified gaze away from her brother's face. Sands looked down at her strangely. She looked absolutely terrified.

"What's wrong?" he asked, worried.

Lyn said nothing but raised her bleeding arm. Blood rolled off down her hand and onto the ground as she pointed up at his face. Slowly, Sands reached up and touched his lips, his nose, his eyes – he stopped. Something warm and thick was pouring silently down his face and onto his lap. It was gushing from his eyes, Sands realized in horror.

Blood gushed from Sands' eyes in an unstoppable flood. Pulling his hands away in fear, he saw that his fingertips were now stained a deep, liquid crimson. He looked up at Lyn, but his sister was slowly fading away from him as the world slowly grew dark, drowning in the flood of bloody tears.

Blinking through the blood that was slowly obscuring his vision, Sands tried to find Lyn. Through the blood, Sands could just make out her expression. It was the same as his: a wide-eyed, transfixed sort of alarm.

Chest heaving, Lyn tried to prop herself up on her elbows, looking around wildly for something, anything that would help. She found nothing. Crestfallen, Lyn looked back up at Sands. Her eyes shimmered with rare tears that she refused to shed for anyone, but Sands would never see them. Just as Lyn turned to stare back up at him, everything had gone black. There was nothing to impair the darkness that he was now surrounded by. It was constant and never-ending and would be with him until the day he died, somehow Sands knew this. He was blind and he would never see again . . .

But suddenly, he could see. He saw a woman his eleven-year-old self didn't know, though at age thirty-two, he would come to regard he as the bitch that screwed everything up for him. She was clad in black and sitting on a table next to him. She was saying something, but he wasn't listening. He was trying to get a look at his surroundings, but he couldn't. For some reason, the auburn-haired woman was all he could see. It was as if someone had burned the image of her into his mind . . . her image and her words . . .

'_Sorry, baby, but I told you I didn't want any part of your plan. Too small._'

'_You really never saw it coming, did you?_'

'_I'm his daughter._'

'_See anything you like . . . ?_'

He wasn't sure that she would be able to hear him if he answered. But she was sitting right there beside him . . . . she HAD to be able to hear . . . Panic-stricken, Sands opened his mouth to speak.

No . . . .

- - -

For the second time in two days, Sands awoke from a nightmare, panting slightly and trying to remember where he was. He hunted around for the alarm clock to find out what time it was. It took him a good twenty seconds before remembering that his search would be fruitless. He wouldn't be able to see it. It took another fifteen seconds for him to remember that he was in New York City about to partake in a serious operation. It was an experimental surgery that would, with luck, enable him to find his alarm clock the next time he went looking for it.

Sands sighed, wanting nothing more than to be able to go back to sleep, but he knew it wouldn't happen . . . not after that dream. It had been a real event once, many years ago. He, Lyn, and Grace had been out riding when a rattlesnake had crossed their path. The horses were spooked, naturally, but none so much as Lyn's. Her pony had reared in terror, and Lyn had fallen. The snake, shaking its tail menacingly, slithered towards her. Before Sands or Grace could do anything, the serpent had struck and slithered away, without a second look at the bleeding, gasping girl behind it.

Collecting himself, Sands shook his head to clear his mind. Carefully, he eased himself off of the bed and stood. From the living room to their hotel suite, he could hear the sounds of the news blaring. Lynné, Grace, and Liam were undoubtedly watching TV. Following the noise to its source, Sands managed to make his way into the living room.

"Hello," Lyn greeted casually. To Sands, she sounded as though she was engrossed in a book again. "Liam and Grace are out seeing a show."

Sands raised an eyebrow.

"Which show and why?"

"Phantom of the Opera and because they said they needed a way to take their minds off of things," she answered, bored.

"Oh," Sands said, sitting down on the couch next to her. He sighed. Lynné peered at him over the top of her book. There was something he wanted to get out, and they both knew it.

"Anything you . . . wanted?" Lyn asked casually.

"No," he answered at once, then, ". . . yes, no . . . yes."

Lyn regarded him questioningly.

"There is something?"

". . . . . . yeah," he said after a moment. He knew Lynné was looking at him curiously.

"Sands," she said finally, sounding tired, "you know I'm not the best person to come to with problems, but you also know that I'm the only person you're willing to talk to. And Liam and Grace's show only has about two hours left to go, so if there's anything you'd like to say, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Her brother stared at her for a long time. What DID he want to say to her? There were so many things on his mind . . . the surgery, how stupid he was, how he wanted to know what she would do if he died in operation. But that wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Not yet. There may be a time for it, but this wasn't it. Sands settled for how stupid he was.

"I'm a fucking moron," he told her quietly.

"How?" Lyn inquired curiously.

Sands paused, thinking. The way this conversation was going . . . it was going to turn out just like his dream, the dream he had had so many weeks ago, the night Ajedrez had betrayed him and Lyn had found him.

"I trusted someone and that screwed everything up," he sighed flatly.

Lyn nodded.

"I'm not going to disagree with you," she told him, "but there was nothing wrong with trusting Ajedrez."

"Why?" Sands demanded, flying off of the couch as if it had burned him. "Why isn't there anything wrong with that, Lyn?"

"Because," she said simply, "trusting someone isn't a crime, Sands. Admittedly, you trusted the wrong person – "

"And it led to my downfall," Sands cut in furiously. "I'M the one who's to watch them fall, Lyn, it's not supposed to be the other way around."

Lynné glared up at him for a beat. Finally, snapping her book shut, she rose slowly from the couch and stood directly in front of Sands.

"I am well aware of that, Sands," she said tersely, "You remind me every day."

"That's because it's what I do, Lyn," Sands hissed, "I set them up and watch them fall. But when I myself am the one being set up, what do I do?"

"You let them rip your eyes out and pray to God they don't take something else," Lyn answered bitterly.

Sands stared at her, contemplating what she had just said. She was right. He knew she was right. She was always fucking right. Suddenly, he sat back down on the couch, his head in his hands. Lynné sighed and took up her place next to him.

"I loved her, Lyn," Sands said so softly that, if there had been anyone else in the room, no one but Lyn could have heard him. "I loved her and she used me, betrayed me all for her father . . . To be perfectly honest . . . I was beginning to think that would never happen . . ."

"That you would start to care about someone?" Lyn wondered aloud.

"Yeah," Sands murmured, nodding, "I was. But then I met her and after a while I realized that she was more than just a good lay, much more. So I let her in on my plan; my plan to get you out of Mexico."

"You shouldn't have tried to do that," Lyn said quietly, "You didn't have to. I would've found a way of leaving sooner or later –"

"Yeah, but as long as I was there I couldn't stand seeing you the way you were. You hated Mexico, Lynnie, you always have and you still do. And all the while you were there you were miserable and I hated it."

"So it's me," Lyn breathed faintly, "it's all because of me. Ajedrez helped but I'm the real reason you're –"

"Guilt doesn't fit you, Lynnie," Sands pointed out sarcastically. "Don't start feeling regretful, you never did before this."

Nodding, Lynné said, "Right, right . . . ." She exhaled theatrically. "It's nicer just to blame Ajedrez for everything."

Sands grinned humorlessly.

"Exactly." He sighed again, his smirk disappearing as quickly as it came. "But, yeah, I was a moron. A fucking moron who let a pretty face get worm her way into my head and fuck with my mind. And I've suffered the consequences. And I'm still a moron for agreeing to go through with this."

Lyn smiled sadly, wrapping her arms around his slim shoulders in an uncharacteristic movement of consolation. Surprisingly, Sands didn't pull away but he didn't lean into her either.

"You still managed to start and entire revolution," Lyn reminded him, "and you got me out of Mexico. So, really, your plan DID work."

"I'm still a moron," Sands told her.

"Yes," she agreed distantly, "but you're one of my morons, that's something."

"And what does that mean?" Sands asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It means that you're one of the few people I can stand to be around for more than ten minutes," she answered, sounding slightly amused.

Sands let out a short laugh but said bitterly, "I keep thinking about how many mistakes I made . ."

Sighing, Lynné stared at her brother, deep in thought. Finally she spoke, her words penetrating the silence that had filled the room.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Sands," she said quietly, "Your only mistake was learning to love another human being. And as far as things go . . . there are far worse mistakes you could have made."

- - -

_Argh, that was kinda sappy, wasn't it? Oh well. See, my idea is that Sands had to love Ajedrez simply because he let her in on his plan. I figured that, if he trusted her enough to do that, he must have loved her at least a bit. It just seems like that's how Sands would work. As they say in Moulin Rouge, without trust, there is no love._

_._


	22. Revisiting and Revelations

**The Long Way Home **

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Twenty-Two**: Revisiting and Revelations

Geh, everyone was a little OOC in that last chapter, weren't they? (winces) I was afraid of that. But I'm just thinking of it this way: It's the night before Sands goes into surgery, there's a possibility he might die, and this is probably the last chance he's ever gonna get to, eh, 'vent.' And, since Liam and Grace had conveniently stepped out, leaving him alone with Lynné, his sister (and the only person he trusts anymore, I might add), it just seemed like it would be a good idea to have him confide in her . . . a bit. Not a lot, never a lot, no. u.u Plus, like I said in my little note at the end of the chapter, I really do think he loved Ajedrez and that's why he's been so discontent lately. Well, that and the fact that he had his eyes gouged out with a motorized corkscrew, but, y'know, who wouldn't be upset after an experience like that?

**PS**: I have dwelled on whether I should post this chapter the way it is or not. I've had it finished for about a week now, but have put off posting it because I have been debating. I just keep thinking that it's a bit much, even for this story. Ah well. Let me know what you think, and if I'm right, I'll rewrite and post it again. Thanks much. =)

- - -

"Lyn . . ." Sands sighed theatrically, ". . . you're gonna have to tell at least one of us what happened. Besides . . . after tomorrow, you might not be able to."

"Liam already knows." She nodded her head to her partner and continued, "Ask him why don't you."

"I'm one of those . . . who prefers to get his information straight from the source," Sands explained.

"Belini was proof of that," Lynné commented.

"Exactly," Sands agreed, "and I'm not sure Fusco would be very interested in hearing what happened to HIM."

"I have a pretty good idea, though," Liam said fearfully.

Sands grinned and Lynné rolled her eyes but smirked at her partner before turning back to Sands.

"I seem to remember you not wanting to tell me what the cartel did to you," she said pointedly.

"Yeah, but I told you anyway, so," Sands sighed again, "just consider this returning the favor."

Lynné sighed in annoyance and looked across the room at Liam for support only to see that he was just as curious as Sands was. Grace was biting her lower lip in worry but she looked as interested as the other two. Finally, realizing that she had no choice, Lyn let out an agitated breath. If they wanted to hear her story, fine by her, but they were the ones who'd have to sit through the details.

"Fine," she stated finally, "but I must warn you that this DOES get rather nasty so . . . please hold your gagging until the end of the story." Lyn smiled pleasantly when her stepsister's eyes grew round and her partner let out a little shuddering gasp.

"As you know," Lyn began matter-of-factly, "I was stationed in Cullican, Mexico three years ago. The CIA sent me and my small team of half-wits – no offense, Liam."

"None taken," her partner squeaked breathlessly.

"Good. Anyway, they sent a few others and me to Mexico with a mission to bring down the Barillo cartel. The cartel was just gaining power three years ago, so it wasn't much of a threat back then, but the CIA felt it best if they did something about it then before anything . . . bad . . . happened."

At this she let out a short, mirthless laugh.

"Of course, those weren't their real intentions, no, see . . . their REAL intentions were to get ME out of their hair. They weren't big fans of mine, the CIA, still aren't, probably. And after my little brush in Switzerland – I did do my job, by the way, the CIA just didn't like the way I handled things – they weren't too keen to keep me in the States much longer. So, they sent me on this mission in Mexico so, that way, I'd be out of the country and able to do whatever I wanted . . . and THEY'D be rid of me – everybody gets what they want, right?"

She shook her head.

"No. See I've always hated the country, we all know that, but actually having to be there . . . MONTHS at a time? You can understand how agitating that can be. I grew restless, but I kept my head, set everything up, talked to who I thought were the right people . . . and then . . . things just started to go downhill . . ."

- - -

"No, listen, you don't understand, the mission has been compromised . . . . . . . . Compromised, what the hell do you think it means, fuckmook?" Lynné let out a disgusted sigh of annoyance. "They know, the cartel know, okay? Do you hear me, dumbass? . . . . . .Yes, yes, that's right. Good boy, you figured that out all by yourself? Aww . . . so listen, I need people out here. The team you sent me with is worthless and you know it, so I'm gonna need some more guys out here, get me weapons, tanks, the whole nine yards cuz this is gonna be D-Day all over again unless you get your rears in gear and do something -- Hello? . . . . He-hello?"

Lyn flipped her phone shut, staring off in disbelief.

"Okay . . . stay calm, breathe . . . breathe . . . just . . . don't . . . freak . . . out." She inhaled heavily. "Okay."

Watching the cars drive by and the people continue on with their merry shopping and touring, Lynné Sands bit her lower lip, trying and failing not to look panic-stricken. The cartel knew exactly what she had been up to, for how long, she didn't know, but she knew now that they knew who she was and what her intentions were.

**_Ooo, bet they're pissed at you._**

'_Bet they are,_' Lyn returned, cheerfully sarcastic. '_Bet the Cleavage Inspection Agency chucked my ass out the window, too._'

**_Defenenstrate._**

'_What?_' Lyn asked, irritated.

**_Defenenstrate. Means 'to throw out a window.'_**

'_Oh, ha, ha. Ha, ha. Fuck you._'

And with that, she continued to walk down the busy street in Cullican, trying to seem as normal and innocent as possible. Of course, walking down the street with a wide-brimmed straw hat on your head didn't exactly help her blend in with the rest of the crowd. Nor did the strappy black sandals her feet were encased in (which made her at least three inches higher). And the plain black tank top and the flowing, knee-length, white skirt that was patterned with little black flowers weren't what someone would call inconspicuous.

**_I don't blame them if they DID throw you away, you know,_** the voice went on, unmoved by the thought that neither it nor Lyn might be alive the next day. **_You're not exactly everyone's favorite agent. No one likes you._**

'_Yep,_' Lyn agreed with insane cheerfulness that made passersby on the street stare at her warily.

**_Especially the heads. Hoo boy,_** the voice sighed happily, **_you really jerked their chains, didn't ya? The little Miss Amoral and Corrupt I-Can-Do-Whatever-I-Want-So-Fuck-You attitude got reeeally annoying after a while, just so you know. You need to know when you stop, girl, 'else you're gonna get a lotta people pissed off at you._**

Lyn gave a little mental shrug, smiling disturbingly.

'_That's why my beat's in Mexico._'

She was just about to cross the street when a large black limousine came out of nowhere. Normally, Lyn would have flipped the driver off, but at the moment she was too distracted to bother. The limo screeched to a halt in front of her.

Lynné lowered her cell phone slowly, never taking her eyes off of the car. If the pair of wrap-around sunglasses she was wearing hadn't protected her dark orbs, the occupants of the car would have been pleased to see the panic and worry her eyes contained. Slipping the little phone into her purse, having given up all hope of ever getting help from the CIA, Lynné stood her ground and waited for the worst to happen.

The reaction was almost instant. As soon as the cartel realized that she wasn't going to do anything, they pounced. Members of the drug ring poured from the limousine, guns aimed, ready to shoot whenever they were given the command. Collecting herself as best as she could, Lynné readied herself for a fight. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell she'd survive, but she'd be damned if she was going to go down without a fight.

But the fight never came. Armando Barillo stepped out of the limo, and smiled at her with the kind of amusement one only got when they had done something they considered a personal triumph. Finally catching up with the person who was going to bring an end to one of the major drug lords in Mexico would be an example.

"Señorita Sands, I presume?" he said in his heavy Spanish accent.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Lyn returned the smile.

"Now, now," she said, putting on a cool façade, "you shouldn't go making presumptions unless you are sure that what you are presuming isn't, in fact, very dangerous."

The Mexican drug lord laughed at her coldly.

"I assure you, señorita, I am certain my presumptions are correct. I must admit," he continued, "you are not the woman I expected to see," Barillo told her, as if drug lords stopped to kidnap CIA agents all the time.

"Oh?" Lynné asked, glancing down at her small frame. "Well, in case no one has told you, señor, looks can be deceiving."

"Indeed," Barillo agreed, his smile washing away from his face. He raised his arm, made a motion with his hand, and his men swarmed Lyn like thousands of bees. A pair of them grabbed her arms, lifted the woman easily (she was elfin compared to the cartel members), and carted her around to the back of the limousine. A third cartel member wrenched open the lid of the trunk and before Lyn could flail or kick or even scream in desperation, she was lifted higher and thrown into the trunk.

- - -

Aside from picking her up and tossing her into the back of a drug lord's limo, the cartel hadn't done anything to harm her, and until they did, Lynné wouldn't make the mistake of putting up a struggle.

"Señorita Sands," Barillo said once they had arrived at what she guessed was his estate. Being locked in a trunk with nothing but darkness and catcalls from the cartel members as company had vexed her a great deal, but she forced herself to stay pleasant. Barillo's cold smile, she noted, had returned. He was seated on the expensive armchair leering down at her, while Lyn herself had been shoved onto the couch directly across from him. The two men who had carried Lyn into the limousine now flanked her sides.

"I have heard from a very reliable source that you are trying to put an end to my . . . business," Barillo told her.

"Well, the people I work for are," Lyn explain carefully.

"Really?" he asked, pretending to be interested. "I had no idea the CIA took on people such as yourself and made them field agents."

'_One more fucking crack about my size and I am reaching across there and ripping his balls off._'

**_Do it,_** the voice encouraged, **_The fucker deserves it!_**

"Oh, you heard about my involvement with the CIA?" Lyn asked, feigning delight. "I am so surprised, I wouldn't think that someone such as yourself would be able to find access to that kind of information. I'm sure your line work is VERY tiring. How're the piano lessons coming, by the way? Improved at all in the last two years?"

Barillo wasn't pleased. With one light, effortless movement he motioned to the man on Lynné's right. The next thing she knew, something icy and sharp was being driven into her arm. Lyn had a split second to look down and see a syringe protruding from her right shoulder before her vision blurred and her mind clouded over.

- - -

"Is she awake?"

"No."

"But . . . her eyes are open . . ."

"I am aware, but she was like that entire time."

"She didn't close them once?"

"Not once."

"Fascinating . . ."

Lyn was awake. She had been for the past fifteen minutes, but she refused to let Barillo or any of his men know it. Only allowing herself to blink when their backs were turned, Lynné kept her eyes open, using a method she had learned many years ago to do so. It was simple, really . . . all she had to do was keep her eyes relaxed and not think about them.

They had strapped her to a table, she realized now as she began to come to her senses. It may as well have been a slab of ice for all the warmth it was providing. She couldn't really tell. Not unless she wanted Barillo to realize she was awake, that is.

**_Well, you've reeeally done it now, sugar-butt,_** the voice sneered. **_I just wanna say thank you right now before they realize we're awake and begin the torture. Y'know, just in case I don't get a chance to after this. _**

'_Oh boo fucking hoo. That'd be a real tragedy._'

"Ah, you're awake, señorita."

'_Shit._'

**_Damn._**

"And feeling quite refreshed, I might add," Lynné told him cheerfully, though she noticed that her voice had decided to raise itself a few octaves, as sure sign that she was nervous.

"That is good to know, señorita. It would be . . . very unfortunate if you were not relaxed."

Lyn feigned interest.

"Oh?"

"Sí. You see, señorita, I do not take kindly to people who meddle in my affairs."

"Oh, well, actually, it wasn't me," Lyn explained. "No, it was allll the CIA's fault – I didn't even want to BE here, heh."

'_I am so fucking screwed. . ._'

"Señorita Sands, you're stalling does not amuse me," Barillo informed her. "Nothing you say will make me change my mind."

"Change your mind? About what?" Lyn asked, still playing for time. She knew perfectly well what the drug lord was talking about.

Barillo laughed as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why, punishment of course, señorita," he said, still laughing lightly. "I intend on seeing that you get exactly what's coming to you."

"I do hope you know –"Lyn swallowed the growing lump in her throat "-- that killing an officer is a federal offence," Lyn blurted as a last and useless attempt at reason. "And that if I die. . . the CIA will be up your ass before –"

"You are not going to die, señorita," Barillo told her calmly, "Not today. No, I just want to teach you a lesson about running around, trying to figure out how to stop the unstoppable."

Lyn blinked in confusion, her eyes never leaving the face of Armando Barillo.

**_Don't freak out, goddamn you, I swear to God . . . just keep breathing, remember that._**

'_Right, it's the key to existence, after all. If you don't breathe --_'

**_-- you die,_** the voice finished. **_Exactly. So if you just remember that, you'll be okay._**

"Right . . . or left?" Barillo asked Lyn, tearing her away from her conversation with herself.

Blinking rapidly, Lyn breathed, "What . . . ?"

"Right or left, señorita? Doctor Guevera needs a decision but he could not make up his mind. So we thought we would be gentlemen and let you make the choice. So, which is it? Right or left?"

Lyn swallowed.

"Neither."

Barillo laughed at her once again, filling the darkened room with cold mirth.

"I am afraid that is not an option, chiquita. Now which will it be, right . . . or left?"

- - -

Lyn paused in her story to take a sip of the strawberry daiquiri room service had brought up. Liam and Grace glanced at each other in anticipation.

"And . . ." Sands prompted, a dark eyebrow arching over his sunglasses in curiosity.

"You should try these things; they make them really well here," Lyn told him, setting her daiquiri down on the coffee table in front of her. When Sands glared at her, she blinked innocently and cleared her throat.

"Anyway . . . I escaped, obviously, shot a few of Barillo's men and –"

"Wait," Sands commanded, signaling her to stop. "Wait, wait . . . your little tale can't be that anti-climactic, Lynnie, and if it was, you would've at least lied about the ending."

"Yeah, I'm getting the idea there's something you're not telling us," Grace added, frowning.

"Quite the astute little thing, aren't ya, Gracie?" Lyn commented sarcastically.

She exchanged a warning look with Liam, one that Sands couldn't see and one that Grace didn't notice because she was busy reaching across the table for her cup of coffee. Eyes widening with concern, Liam nodded and promptly began staring off in the other direction.

"Lynné," Sands asked slowly, noticing her lack of answers, "which was it? Right or left?"

She turned her head sharply, but it was a while before she responded.

"Left."

Liam closed his eyes, his expression pained. Grace's mouth was slightly agape, but she didn't seem to notice.

"The left . . ." she gasped, "the left what?"

Lynné said nothing but bent down over her legs, fumbling with something none of them could see. Liam kept his eyes closed the entire time. He didn't want to see it, it was already bad enough when he had found her on the dusty streets of Mexico three years ago . . . but to look back now . . . it would be too much.

Hearing it was worse, he would later come to find. At least when you had your eyes open you could see what was going on. But when they were shut . . . it was different. All you had was your imagination and the sounds. There was a click and Grace gasped in horror. Liam realized that he wasn't the only one in this position when he heard Sands demand to know what had happened. However, at least he, Liam, had the luxury of being able to open his eyes.

Slowly, very slowly, Liam lifted his eyelids.

"If one of you would be so kind as to explain what's going on," Sands said, letting his irritation with his unfortunate predicament be known, "I'm kind of at a disadvantage here."

"Oh, here," Lyn said nonchalantly, "let me clear things up for you."

Taking his arm with her free hand, Lynné pulled it towards her and told him to hold on as she lay something across his lap. When Sands realized what she had given him, for once, words escaped him.

Grace was shaking her head back and fourth, staring, not at Lyn, but at the prosthetic leg in Sands' arms. Judging by the length of the fake limb, Barillo had gotten Dr. Guevera to cut it off just below Lyn's knee. The leg's replacement was so lifelike . . . Grace realized how easily she had mistaken it for a real leg.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Adam," Liam answered before Lyn could. "Called him up and had it made for her. It's the latest in technology . . . functions just like a real leg and everything."

Sands still hadn't said anything. He was running his hand along the leg, estimating its length, perhaps, and turning it over in his fingers. It even felt like a real leg. He was certain it looked like one too; he couldn't feel any hinges where the ankles or toes were. They felt like real working joints. Barillo had taken Lynné's left leg . . . three years ago, three years . . . and he had never known . . .

"Sands?" Grace asked timidly.

"How did you get away?" he said quietly, not looking at Lyn.

"Same as you. They let me go," Lyn replied with a short laugh. "I guess they thought a one-legged CIA agent was as dangerous as a blind one."

"Guess so," Sands said. "After you were . . . released . . . what happened?"

"Ripped off a piece of my skirt – and I liked that skirt to, so it took a lot of debating before I did it – and tied it around my leg -- half a leg . . .to stop the blood flow.

"Then Barillo sent some of his goons after me. Guess he thought it'd be amusing to watch a girl who had just undergone amputation hop up the street on one leg as she tried to shoot the three men following her."

"You did get them, didn't you?" Grace demanded fearfully.

Lyn rolled her eyes.

"Do I really need to answer that?"

- - -

**_Get up, goddamn you._**

'_Don't think I can, sugar-butt._'

**_What do you mean you don't think you can!?!_** the voice demanded furiously. **_I was there when you hobbled all the way up the street, and you were in pain the entire time. So what's stopping ya now?_**

'_Dunno. Drugs?_'

**_Fuck the fucking drugs, all right? They're pain numbing aren't they? . . . . Well?_**

'_Brain numbing more like,_' Lyn giggled silently.

**_Clearly,_** the voice mused, not effected in the least by Lyn's comment.

There was a light tapping sound slowly getting louder as the seconds passed. No . . . not louder . . . . . closer. The noise became louder as it got closer to the broken woman who was lying on the stoops of one of the casas, her bleeding figure shaded from view by the cool shadows of the hacienda.

'_Oh good,_' Lyn sighed, shifting her right leg so that it hid the left leg . . . or lack thereof.

**_Good? What's good?_** snapped the voice, irate.

'_Looks like Barillo's men have finally found me,_' Lyn told it calmly, and then she and the voice both heard it: footsteps.

**_WHAT!?!_** cried the voice in outrage. _**No . . . no, no, no, no, NO. No fucking way, Lyn. You get your ass up now and you shoot them.**_

Lyn sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as she made a feeble attempt to sit up.

**_Shoot them,_** the voice urged dangerously, **_Shoot the fuckers, Lyn._**

Wincing and in excruciating pain the entire time, she managed to pull herself upright, Lynné grasped the small stump that was once her left leg and bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Blood filled her mouth but she pressured herself to listen for the footsteps. They were getting closer. She estimated by the sound that there were at least three people – all men judging by how heavy their feet fell – getting ever closer to her little hiding spot.

Checking her small pistol and making sure she had enough ammo she had left, Lynné breathed a sigh of relief. Nine bullets . . . Three guys . . . all of whom were set up . . . just waiting to be knocked over. And she could watch them fall . . . . if she only managed to stay standing herself.

**_Shoot them,_** the voice was practically begging. **_Shoot them NOW._**

'_To Broadway?_' Lyn inquired thoughtfully.

**_STRAIGHT to fucking Broadway,_** the voice commanded fercely.

Gripping the banister of the stoop, Lyn forced herself into a standing position. There they were. Three men, just as she had determined, all most definitely members of Barillo's cartel.

"Hey pistolleros," she called tauntingly, the stoop's railing hid her stump of a leg and torn, bloodstained clothes.

Every member of the gun-toting trio raised their weapons to shoot. Lyn grinned wickedly, the mind-numbing drugs starting to wear off, and fired, knocking down every single one.

- - -

Her stepsister had resumed shaking her head in disbelief again once Lyn was finished.

"I still can't believe it . . ." she muttered.

"Oh, and before Barillo let me go, the good Dr. Guevera made sure I couldn't have children either," Lynné said as an afterthought.

Now it was Liam's turn to gape. He stared at his partner as she lifted her tight black shirt just enough to let them all (save for Sands) see the ugly scar on her abdomen. Obviously made by a knife, the rough, white-pink mark ran from the left side of her stomach, curved around, going up her left side and ending just below her ribcage. Ignoring the horrified looks she was receiving, Lynné dropped her shirt, hiding her disfigurement.

"Not that I ever considered HAVING children," she told them all, "but –"

"You . . . you never told me that . . . that they . . . did . . . that," Liam stammered, his blue eyes wide with horror.

"I stitched myself up after you took me back to the house," Lyn filled him in, "I'm surprised you never noticed," she remarked calmly. When her partner continued to look terror-struck she shook her head. "It's in the past and both of the people who hold responsibility for it are dead," Lyn assured him in a would-be consoling voice, "and as for me? I'm still standing, Liam, dear, so you don't have to worry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sands asked her suddenly.

His sister shook her head, knowing he wouldn't be able to see it.

"I have my reasons," she told him, "although none of them make much sense. The only answer I can give you is . . ." She shrugged carelessly. "'I don't know.'"

"Vous ne savez pas?" Sands asked coyly, tossing the leg back to Lyn, who began refastening it to her kneecap in an almost bored fashion, though Liam thought he could detect just the smallest bit of bitterness in his partner's face when she had to look at her false appendage.

"Ah," Lyn replied, sitting back up to face Sands once again, "non."

- - -

_I just wanna say, I don't know what made me think of it. Probably the Oreos, no doubt. .O Meep, I'll say nothing more and just leave it here. (cackles) Ta! (sprints away, still snickering) Ahahahahahaaa . . ._

_._


	23. The Big Dance Number

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Twenty-Three**: The Big Dance Number

Next-to-last chapter, gang!

Sands: At last. 9.9

Sidney: -.e Once again, I can't believe how long this thing is –

Sands: Neither can I, so get a move on and end it.

Sidney: (cheerfully ignoring him) Please, pay no attention to that irritating buzzing sound in the background. There is a violent storm raging where I am right now and I am SURE it's messing up the communications. -.9

Sands: u. ;

Sidney: Enjoy the second-to-last chapter, guys! =D

- - -

Sands woke up stiff, having slept on the couch the other night. The fact that he had been sleeping upright didn't help. The sudden crack startled him but not visibly. It reminded him of the sound of bones creaking after they had stayed in an uncomfortable position for a long period of time. He didn't know why he'd thought of that, but that's what came to mind. Turning his head towards the noise, Sands listened intently.

"Ah . . . I'm not doin' that again . . ." Lynné muttered next to him, looking pained as she massaged the back of her neck.

"At least you got the couch," Liam pointed out as he rolled his sore shoulders. "That floor's horrible."

"Oh, don't complain." Lyn waved him off, bending her neck back and fourth and side to side. "That's probably the first floor you've ever slept on."

Liam raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"You've slept on floors before?"

"You'd be surprised how many floors I've slept on," Lyn smirked.

"I could say something about that," Sands put in, "but I think it'd be too predictable."

"Plus, we don't have time," Grace said, striding out of the bathroom, her blonde hair expertly styled.

"Oh, that's right," Liam realized, something dawning on him, "we're supposed to meet Adam at ten."

Absentmindedly, Lynné glanced at the little clock the hotel had set on the coffee table to make the hotel room look more homey. Noticing the time, her expression turned to shock, which quickly changed into fury. Storming up to Liam, anger ablaze in her dark eyes, she swatted her partner on the shoulder in frustration.

"What did I say about letting me sleep in!?"

- - -

Sands sighed. He had to meet with Doctor Fusco once again to make a final check on how he was doing and to give him a run-through of what was going to happen during the surgery.

"You still won't be able to see for about a week afterwards," Adam explained, "but after at least a month you should be able to identify both large and small objects. So, in a maximum of six months, you'll have made a full recovery–"

"Except for the fact that I'll have to wear glasses and/or contact lenses for the rest of my life," Sands interrupted dully, sounding as though he had read the words out of a text book one too many times.

"And you won't be wearing contacts until a month later at the least," Doctor Fusco told him sternly. "I won't allow it."

Sands eyebrows arched.

"Really?" he inquired, gazing imploringly up at the doctor.

"Yes," Lynné said matter-of-factly, "and if he doesn't, you know I will."

"And if she forgets, I'll remind you," Grace added severely, her eyes narrowed.

"Well," Adam cut in, "now that that's . . . settled . . . let's get you into some hospital robes –"

"Oh Christ . . ." Sands muttered.

"– and I'll be back with a wheelchair and then we can get started," Adam finished brightly, trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably. At these words, Sands gave him an incredulous 'What-the-fuck?' expression. Ignoring him, the doctor twisted the doorknob of his office door, and exited the scene.

- - -

"Do I have to ride in a wheelchair?" Sands complained as Liam wheeled him down the hallways of the hospital to the elevators. "Doctor Liam's Brother knows I'm capable of walking on my own."

**_Unlike SOME people,_** the voice sniffed at Lyn, who glared visibly.

'_Watch it . . ._'

"I don't know why he wanted you wheeled up," Grace said soothingly, "but most patients DO ride in wheelchairs before they go into the OR. Doctor's just want you to save your energy, I guess."

"My stepsister, the doctor," Sands muttered, thinking that, with any luck, he would be able to roll his eyes whenever he made his smart remarks in the future.

"I'm a pediatrician, Sands," Grace corrected, irked. "Asking questions of someone who has never worked in a hospital will get you nowhere."

"Elevator," Liam announced suddenly. He was surprised when his fellow agents and said agents' stepsister all made identical faces of dislike.

"I take it I'm not the only one who hates elevators now, too?" he asked tentatively.

None of them answered him. Lyn and Grace simply strode past him, each looking like they would rather be anywhere else, and stepped into the elevator. Sands was gripping the arms of his mobile chair tightly when Liam wheeled him in after the two women.

Wincing all the while, Liam slowly reached out and pressed the button marked with a '5' on the keypad of the elevator. A sudden lurch and a whirring noise let them know that their elevator was about to move.

Liam twitched nervously, his eyes wide and alert.

'_Final Destination II, Final Destination II, Final Destination II . . ._' he thought wildly.

Grace kept wringing her hands together and glancing around the chrome elevator nervously. She decided it best not to mention to anyone that she was claustrophobic until after they had stepped outside.

'_Why couldn't they have built wheelchair ramps?_' Lynné thought angrily, '_We could've taken one of those to the fifth floor instead of waiting to see if the cord will break on THIS thing and we'll all go plummeting to our deaths . . . _'

Sands remained silent in his chair, his head decidedly pointing downward. He jumped slightly when he felt something brush his arm. It took a moment to realize that, behind him, Lyn's arm had shot out and she was now gripping his hand gently.

'_Did I do that for my own comfort? Or was it for his?_' she thought, confused.

**_I can't believe YOU'RE asking either of those questions,_** the voice mused faintly

Lyn didn't reply but squeezed Sands' hand tighter when she felt the elevator slow down, closing her eyes in a grimace as she did so.

'_Damn these things . . ._'

"Okay, we're here."

"Thank you, Fusco. I never would've guessed." Though Sands' words were dripping with sarcasm, Lynné knew she would be wrong in thinking he wasn't perturbed by the operation at all. He was just as anxious as she was, and the fact that he did not release her hand until they had reached the operating room proved it.

"We're just about ready," Adam said when he looked up and saw them. "I just have to run a double check to make sure everything's going smoothly. Now, you three will have to leave once we begin," he added, looking pointedly at Liam, Grace, and Lyn, "but you can have a few minutes alone with him while we set up."

Liam nodded while the other three said nothing. It was after Adam had departed that anyone made a move. Sands reached out and took Lyn's hand very cautiously. Neither Liam nor Grace said anything, though perhaps they were too caught up in their own worries to notice. But it seemed more likely that they understood, somewhat, how the two were feeling and knew that they needed a moment.

Sands said nothing during their wait that seemed to be endless, but held on to Lynné's hand, absentmindedly running his thumb over the silver band she wore on her ring finger . . . the one that had collided with the face of Agent Baronn who was no more. He thought vaguely that Lyn's bruises must have healed by now . . . it seemed like it had happened ages ago . . .

Upon his return, Doctor Adam Fusco noted that neither his brother, nor his patient, nor both of the women seemed to have said anything during the time of his absence. This struck him as strange. Family and friends had surrounded every person he had ever seen before they went into the OR and all of them had been talking, making optimistic comments, and wishing the patient luck.

These people were different, however. They weren't saying anything to Sands or each other. In fact, none of them seemed to have moved at all while he had been gone. They were all staring off into space silently, save for Sands. He had his line of vision turned to the ground even though he couldn't see.

Nervously, Adam cleared his throat to get the attention of the gloomy quartet in front of him.

"Everything's ready," he said quietly.

To Grace, the words must have seemed like a death sentence right then and there. Tears once again beginning to form, she swooped down on Sands and gave him a brief kiss on both of his cheeks. Pulling away, she looked at him and then turned her gaze to Lynné and Liam. The latter swallowed hard before reaching out and clapping Sands on the shoulder.

"Good luck," he murmured, though his voice was less than positive.

Sands only nodded once in understanding. The very thought of the surgery drained him of any sharp-tongued comments he might have had. No one said anything, but Grace, Liam, and Adam looked expectantly at Lyn, who in turn gazed at the blue and white tiled floor. She sighed; her inner voice sighed. She had to say something now; the next time she saw Sands it might be too late, and Doctor Liam's Brother was not going to wait forever.

Silently, she moved in front of the wheelchair and bent down so she could be at eye-level with her brother. Time passed without the two exchanging words, but then, with a small smile, Lynné reached out and placed a gentle hand on Sands arm.

Sands jerked his head upward, towards the his sister. He wanted to tell her . . . he had to tell her how grateful he was to have her as his sibling. Anyone could have come along and picked him up off of the dusty Cullican streets on the Day of the Dead . . . the CIA, the cartel, maybe even the family members of the kid who had helped him . . . but Lynné had been the one to find him. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. She meant something to him, she always had even when he had hated her when he was young and deluded. Lyn was his family, his REAL family. She was all he had and the thought that this may be the last chance he would ever se – hear her . . . .

'_Tell her. Just tell her, dumbass – say something . . ._'

**_You can't_** the voice sneered maliciously. **_You can't because you've never been able to. You're an apathetic, distant asshole, Sheldon,_** it told him, using the hated first name, **_That's just the way you are._**

Defeated and knowing the voice was right, Sands lowered his head. He thought Lyn had left, that Dr. Fusco was the only person still with him, but something abruptly let him know he was wrong. Lynné was still there. She was right in front of him. He knew this because he heard her when she spoke.

"Hey . . ." she told him softly, ". . . I'll be seeing you."

Before he could say anything that would perhaps make her think otherwise, Sands heard a rustling of a coat as his sister bent over, her hand still resting on his arm, and kissed him softly, lightly on the forehead.

- - -

_And that's the end of that chapter! I wanted to do a little more with this but I decided to save it for later. ) Only one more to go, though! At least I think so . . . As I said earlier, it all kinda depends on whether or not I do an extra (glances around conspicuously) bonus chapter! Mwahaha . . . Meh. I dunno. R R!_

_._


	24. The Question of Who is Standing

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Twenty-Four**: The Question of Who is Standing

Darn it! This chapter was supposed to be shorter, especially because I originally intended on leaving about two scenes out, but no. Now I think I'm going to leave them in here. And, of course, I just had this trés nifty idea for a dream sequence. Ah, you know you love 'em. Or at least I do. =)

- - -

Timothy Rhodes flipped his cell phone shut, staring out into space. Beside him his sister-in-law shook his shoulder impatiently.

"Well?" she demanded. "Did she say anything about her lack of calls?"

"Cat?" he said quietly.

"WHAT?" Catherine practically shrieked, glaring up at him.

"Now I – I could be wrong but . . ."

"But what?"

Tim sighed. He had just gotten off the phone with his wife after not hearing from her for five days straight. It wasn't like Grace at all. She rarely went on any sort of trip without him, and when she did she made sure to call him once a day at the very least. But now when she had finally called, she sounded tired, strained and had been rather short with her responses.

"Tim!" Cat was screeching in his ear. He winced as her shrill voice tore him out of his stupor unpleasantly.

"What?" he asked stupidly, "Oh. Yeah. Um, well she just . . . she asked me if I'd heard anything about him, y'know, Sands and all . . . and I told her no, there wasn't anything new about him or his whereabouts."

"And?" Cat pressed, exasperated and certain that he wasn't giving her every little detail.

"Well, she seemed sort of . . . relieved to hear that," Tim explained, looking confused.

"Relieved HOW?" Cat narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Well, after I told her that we hadn't heard anything about him she, uh, she did that little 'oh' sigh thing . . . that she does . . ." His voice faded when Cat continued to glare. "Well, y'know . . . she sounded sorta . . . happy to hear that we hadn't found him . . . yet," he quickly added.

"Where is she?" his sister-in-law wanted to know.

"Well, she said she was just needed in downtown D. C. at first," Tim explained, "but now she tells me they wanted her at some hospital in New York City."

"Where in New York, which hospital?"

"Uh . . ." Tim racked his brain, trying to fathom the name of the hospital his wife had mentioned. Come to think of it . . . he didn't think she had given a name . . .

"Never mind." Cat waved an impatient hand. "Just call her back again."

- - -

The streets were deserted, completely empty. There was no talking, no singing, no yelling, no music . . . The only sound remaining was the breeze occasionally blowing through a wind chime or two. Other than that, there was no noise whatsoever.

The houses had been removed of all their residents, the only things that showed there had ever been life inside the stucco walls was the furniture, clothing, and food. These things alone appeared undisturbed amidst the chaos that had certainly gone on earlier that day.

All of the people had fled it seemed. The dust, however, stayed. It covered everything, drying out any source of moisture it could find, choking a living thing whenever it went to breath. Apparently dust did not know the key to existence. And if it did, it didn't seem to care. Everything was coated in a rough powder of burn orange dust.

But no . . . the little town was not as empty as it seemed. Up ahead, there was the dark silhouette of a child, wearing nothing but black even though it must have been at least 90 degrees outside in the heavy Mexico air. The child's head was determinedly thrust toward the ground, giving off an icy air despite the heat of the day. Their shoulders were hunched, their long brown hair hid their face, and they had their hands clenched tightly in fists at their sides, as if trying to shut out everyone around them as they walked. But there was only one person the child could be trying to push away, and she wasn't going to give in.

Lynné sprinted up the street, her footsteps inaudible on the cobbled ground. She wasn't sure who the little kid was – a younger version of herself, perhaps. She didn't know, but she knew the child from somewhere. But before Lyn could catch up, the child suddenly stopped. They lifted their head ever so slightly to glance around, as if they weren't sure where they were. Then, without warning, the child turned.

Placing a hand over her mouth, Lynné just managed to hold back her gasp of horror. She stood there, shaking her head in disbelief at the gruesome sight before her. She had witnessed many gory, grisly, unimaginable things in her life but this . . . . . . Nothing compared to the butchery that was standing directly in front of her.

It was Sands, she now realized. He was younger; only about seven years old . . . . Lyn's teeth went down on her lower lip . . . that's what made everything seem more terrible. He was only seven and yet . . . where his eyes should have been there were only two hollow caverns, each colored a deep shade of crimson. There were equally dark streaks of red rolling down his scared and confused face, some dry, and some not. Lyn barely contained another gasp as the skinny, pale little boy raised a shaking arm and tried to feel what he could no longer see.

He jumped suddenly when Lynné took his hand in hers, but recovered just as quickly. She had crouched down to his level and was looking into the empty, black cavities intently. Carefully, Lyn lifted his hand to touch her face, hoping he would be able to read it for she seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

Younger Sands ran his long fingers over the mystery woman's features. Even at age seven he showed signs of having a great intellect; figuring out a person's face should be easy . . . . Her nose was small, dainty, if a bit long . . . high, somewhat sharp cheekbones that made him think she couldn't be very old . . . her lips were full, like his . . . and the light fluttering against his fingertips let him know that her eyelashes were long.

He took a strand of the woman's hair in his hand, the other still placed gently over her ageless face. It was soft, silky, and most definitely long. Taking a piece of his own hair, Sands realized . . . she was older, taller, but that didn't change anything. He knew, somehow he knew who she was. He released her hair and dropped his arms to his sides, stunned.

For the second time that day, her brother caught her off guard. Lynné started when the little boy let out a short breath of relief and nearly tumbled backwards when, the next thing she knew, he had thrown his arms around her neck. The little boy let out a hollow moan, burying his mutilated face in her shoulder.

Lynné listened raptly as the little boy's heart beat frantically in his chest. She could feel it pounding in fear against her own and it worried her. For once she had run out of ideas. Awkwardly, she put her arms around young Sands' shoulders, not sure what else to do.

The blood that was trickling down young Sands' face was now steadily seeping into the black blazer she wore, but for once Lyn didn't mind. She was in complete and utter shock at what her brother had just done – what he was still doing. She couldn't blame him but . . . she had never been good with children – she didn't even LIKE them – but somehow, this was different . . . For some reason she knew exactly how the little boy, her brother, felt. She had been through this, after all, or at least something similar . . . she knew what if felt like to be lost . . . helpless . . . hopeless . . .

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you finally admitted it," a voice said, cutting through the eerie silence.

Lifting his head at the sudden noise, young Sands looked around wildly for a voice he couldn't see. Lynné felt a sudden sharp pang inside her body. It seemed to have reverberated from the very center of her being, but she was not sure of the cause of it. Lifting her dark eyes she scanned the dusty city in search of a voice that until now she had thought disembodied.

Suddenly, a flash of movement off in the distance snared her attention. She had seen it out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head around it was gone.

'_Damnit, I _KNOW _who that is . . ._'

"I would certainly hope so," the voice said again. This time, it sounded closer. Narrowing her dark eyes suspiciously, Lynné turned her head with caution. When the owner of the voice fell into view, Lyn let out a long breath that sounded relieved, though the nervousness of her expression would say otherwise.

The . . . thing in front of her was a woman as far as Lyn could tell, but it had no definite shape. Instead of looking like a normal person, it's face kept changing, becoming a different person every few minutes. Some of the faces she knew, some she recognized vaguely, and some she didn't think she had ever seen before. One second it would be Liam, then his face would suddenly melt and it would become that of Ajedrez's. But before Lynné could take in this phenomenon, Ajedrez's visage began to swirl and the next thing she knew, she was staring at Cat – no, Grace. Now it was her father, but he suddenly turned into some random cartel member . . . Doctor Guevera . . . and now Barillo, the cruel bastard . . . Oh, Christ . . . now he had gone and changed into that annoying little snob . . . whatshername . . . who thought she was better than everyone else when they were in school. Well, she had gotten her comeuppance, Lyn had seen to that.

The strange thing was, even though the faces kept changing, the voice itself remained the same. And even stranger still, Lynné knew she had heard the voice before. She had heard it many years ago right after her mother died and her father started ignoring her entirely, right when she had become the invisible daughter. It had come to her one night when she was by herself, shunned and lonely . . . but now it seemed as if . . . almost . . . but no . . . that couldn't be right . . .

"No," Lyn whispered murderously. At last, it seemed, she had finally found her voice, and in more ways than one.

"Yes," the voice told her, reading her mind like an open book, "I now have a body . . . or . . . something of the like, as you can see." The swirling mass of faces and shapes in her life gestured up and down itself by way of explanation. It gazed down at her evilly before its eyes darted to Sands and its grin widened in a way that strongly reminded Lyn of Ajedrez even though it now wore the face of her stepmother, Melinda.

Lyn blinked, impulsively pulling the quaking, seven-year-old Sands closer to her. If the voice had found a way out of her head – which was the only explanation that even made even the remotest bit of sense – then no good could come from it.

"It was really getting annoying, you know," the voice told her, "being trapped in a head for twenty-seven years. Unfortunately that head turned out to be YOURS and you and your wild thoughts nearly drove me into insanity."

"Nearly?" Lyn scoffed.

The voice, now wearing the face of the late Agent Miller, glared at her.

"I'm still saner than you," it informed her huffily, "That's something."

"A very small, miniscule, almost microscopic something, but still something? All right," Lyn agreed, "but I should warn you that it doesn't take a lot to be saner that me."

"You're saying I have a firmer grip on my sanity than you do?" the voice hissed venomously.

"Okay," Lyn said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with what her voice had said. Its eyes narrowed in rage. Lynné rose from the ground, suddenly unmoved by her voice and its half a body. It was still just a voice, whether it now had a defined form or not. Nonetheless, she pushed younger Sands behind her gently, so her slender form hid him from view; no use in getting him involved in this.

"If you're done with your little . . . comparison of the brains lecture . . . I really must be going –"

"Not until I get what I want," the voice said sharply.

"Excuse me?" Lyn asked, in a tone that was mingled with boredom, sarcasm, and disbelief all at once.

"YOU always get exactly what your heart desires," the voice said slowly, calculating, "Why shouldn't I?"

"Look," she began, "if you want something off of me I'm in no mood to strike a deal today, sorry."

"That's fine," the voice told her nonchalantly, "I didn't want to deal with you're so-called bargaining skills anyway."

Lynné's eyebrows arched.

"Oh?" she inquired placidly, "Well, in that case, I bid you adieu."

She turned, intending to leave right then and there, but instead found herself stumbling and the next thing she knew, she had fallen ungracefully onto the hard, dusty ground. Beside her, Sands flinched at the sound, but carefully reached out a hand and tentatively began feeling the air around him, trying to, in a sense, see where Lyn had fallen. It didn't take him long to find out.

"I'm fine, don't panic," Lyn assured him distractedly as she attempted to right herself. But as she pulled herself into a sitting position, she made a startling realization.

"Oh fuck . . ." she muttered, her voice full of spite as she closed her eyes in agony. Her face was harsh and pained even though she felt nothing. That made sense . . . . She hadn't felt anything for a while now . . . Lifting her head abruptly, she glared up at the voice from her crumpled position on the cobbled stones.

"Like it?" the voice asked in an innocent tone that deceived no one. "I thought you would."

"Oh, yes," Lyn agreed, pushing herself up on her elbows and narrowing her eyes hatefully. "Yes, my leg looks muuuch better on the fucking voice in my head than it ever did on ME."

Despite Lynné's obvious sarcasm, the voice flashed her a grin full of triumph, satisfaction, and malice. In return, Lyn glared daggers at it.

'_Fuck, I thought I'd gotten over this . . ._'

The voice laughed coldly.

"Face it, honey, you will NEVER be over this no matter how well you can disguise it." It gestured to the prosthetic leg that was so lifelike it now made the voice seem more like an actual person than a mere figment of a twisted CIA agent's imagination. If only it had a permanent face . . . then it would look almost human.

Cackling mirthlessly again, the voice said, "Oh, didn't I tell you about my body?"

"Must've slipped your . . . mind," Lynné said airily.

The voice scowled but went on with its little speech.

"By taking your leg, I have started to become whole. And with a little more ammunition," it continued wickedly, "why, I'll be complete."

"And just where are you going to find extra limbs and organs?" Lyn asked, sounding bored but already knowing (and dreading) the answer.

"Oh," the voice sighed casually with an evil smile, "I think you and I both know the answer to that."

- - -

Blinking slowly, Lynné gradually began to wake up. It took a few more blinks for everything to come flooding back to her. She was had fallen asleep in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room of a hospital. Sands had gone into surgery . . . how many hours ago . . . ? She didn't want to know, she just wanted to know whether it was over or not, then maybe these goddamn dreams would fuck the hell off.

That last one had been particularly disturbing. As memories of the dream came flowing back to her full-force, her eyes narrowed and tilted upward as if looking at the ceiling, but in reality, she was really trying to glimpse her own head.

"Stay the hell in there," she mouthed, her words both silent and deadly.

Glancing around the small lounge she took a few things into her mental inventory. Across the room, Grace was avidly watching the little ten-channel TV the waiting room contained.

'_Oh Christ . . . not _The View.'

In the chair next to her own, Lyn saw that Liam was still clearly asleep. All around her doctors and nurses bustled around, wheeling or walking patients to rooms, or answering innumerable amounts of calls – the phones never stopped ringing in the place.

Nothing ever stopped in New York, she noted absentmindedly. The lights never turned off, the noise never died . . . everything just kept going and nothing stood in its way.

'_New York, New York, it's a helluva town . . ._' she thought dryly.

Out of nowhere, an electronic rendition of 'Ode to Joy' broke through Lynné's thoughts. Turning her head towards the sound, she found that the noise was coming from Grace. The woman blushed and glanced around the room uneasily. Embarrassed, Grace pulled her cell phone out of her purse and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

Aroused by the sudden ringing, Liam looked around the room blearily.

"What time is it?" he yawned when he looked down and saw Lynné.

After picking up her partner's wrist and glancing down at the watch he wore she told him, "About quarter after five."

"That late?" Liam asked in disbelief. "Adam should be done by now . . ."

"Well he hasn't come back," Lyn said, "I don't think he has, anyway."

They were interrupted by a sudden loud gasp from Grace. Lynné and Liam both jerked their heads away from each other and to Grace mechanically.

"Did . . . didn't I tell you?" she was stammering breathlessly.

Liam shot his partner a quizzical look but she ignored him, focusing all of her attention on her stepsister.

"Oh," Grace said nervously, "I could've sworn I did . . . but I didn't? Oh. W-well, we – I'm at, uh . . ."

Lyn would have given her other leg if only Grace had been sitting just four feet closer. That way, she could have just reached across and snatched the little silver phone away from her, smashing it on the floor into millions of metallic paint-coated plastic crumbs. But she couldn't. Grace was sitting four feet away from her and she could not just reach across the room and stop her from telling anyone anything.

". . . the . . . the New York Eye and Ear Infirmary," Grace finally said after what seemed like ages.

Throwing her head back dramatically, Lynné let out a groan of frustration. She then held up an imaginary gun and mimed shooting herself in the noggin with the air of one who was just fed up with everything an everyone in their life and felt that ending it all would make things a lot better.

And then Dr. Adam Fusco strode into the waiting room.

Liam jumped up as if he had been electrocuted, Lynné's head snapped up, and Grace sprung from her seat and threw down her phone without turning it off.

"How is he? What happened?" Liam demanded urgently. Grace began biting into her lower lip while Lynné could only stare.

It seemed as if the whole world held its breath as Adam sighed, wiping his hands on his white doctor's coat. Christ, why did they always do this? They got some sort of pleasure out of making people wait? Was it some sort of perverse doctor thing? They always – every doctor she had ever encountered -- seemed to adore building tension. Doctors could have a real flair for the dramatic when they wanted to. But now was not the time. Anticipation was killing her, and Lynné was in no mood to die today.

"Dr. Fusco, I . . . hate to sound impatient but if you'd mind telling us today?"

Adam looked up at her, and though his face was serious, his eyes were an open book. He was pleased.

"Now, we're not sure how things are going to turn out," he warned them, "but so far so good. If things work out well . . ." He hesitated, thinking of the right words. ". . . there is a good possibility Mr. Sands will recover his sight."

A great wave of relief swept over Lynné as closed her eyes as if in prayer. Liam seemed stunned beyond words, though he did lay a hand on his partner's shoulder. She seemed not to notice. And Grace fell back into her chair, touching a hand to her forehead wearily. As though the words were causing her a great effort, she sighed tiredly:

"When can we see him?"

"Tomorrow," Adam replied.

Grace smiled, her eyes still closed, and nodded.

It wasn't until long after they had heard the news that any of them remembered that Grace's phone was still on, and that the two people on the other end had heard everything.

- - -

_I lied! Ahhh! XP I know, I know . . . this was supposed to be the last chapter but I just liked leaving it off at that. I did write about three more scenes after that last one, mind, so that means that chapter twenty-five is already started. O.o How 'bout it. Okay, sorry once again. Y'know . . . I really should stop saying 'this is the last chapter!' or 'Only one more chapter left!' cuz, maybe . . . just maybe . . . I'm wrong. (blinks) Oy vey . . ._

_._


	25. For Your Eyes Only

**The Long Way Home**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Chapter Twenty-Five**: For Your Eyes Only

Okay . . . this is it. I'm SURE this is it. Almost. Geh! I can't decide if I want to make the epilogue into another chapter or just include it at the end of this one. Oy vey. I just want to get this one done before July, that's all. But, anyway, I am almost positive that this is the last chapter in this story so I hope you've all enjoyed it =) And there will certainly be author's thanks at the end as long as I don't change my mind and make the epilogue a twenty-sixth chapter. 9.6;;;

- - -

Eyelashes brushed against a rough, thick fabric as Sands was slowly pulled out of his plenary state. Sleep had been irresistible, the intravenous Doctor Liam's Brother had seen to that. Once they had put the mask over his face and instructed him to could backward from one hundred, he could not fight off the tiredness that was gradually taking over his body. At last, sleep claimed him, and Sands slipped from consciousness.

But now, however, he was awake. Groggy, but awake all the same. And for the first time in weeks he had blinked. Nothing but impenetrable darkness hovered in front of him, but that could change. With time . . . it could change.

Several layers of gauze had replaced the sunglasses he had been wearing since the failed coup. Sands wondered if he asked Doctor Liam's Brother whether or not he could take the itchy bastards off what the doctor would say. When he had asked right before he went into surgery the doctor had replied curtly: "Not until Saturday at the earliest." So the bandages had stayed, scratchy, irritating fuckers that they were, but there were two more things that had stayed that stunned Sands beyond belief.

Several times he (or rather the voice in his head) had tried to convince himself that he was dreaming, or rather, trapped in another horrifying nightmare. The eyes weren't really there, so he should not get excited and hopeful because any second now he would wake up and the eyes would be gone and nothing would be left except the black pits where they once had been.

But he had blinked, that's what made him want to change his mind, raise his expectations, and . . . perhaps . . . even hope a little . . . ? Perhaps. But thinking like that would be setting his . . . sights . . . too high. And then, when things did not work out and the horrible truths of reality hit him, it would be ten times worse. However, none of that was going to happen because, at the moment, he was refusing to be optimistic about this.

'_After all, a pessimistic person is rarely disappointed._'

- - -

"Sir, the four people we sent out there had yet to return. The chance that they've gone MIA is VERY possible."

"Do you think I'm worried about four nobody agents? I just need you people to find them – that's all! I don't care if all you get is their corpses, I – want – them – found!" the governor bellowed, slamming his fist down furiously as he yelled each word.

In furious rage, he glared at the man behind the desk, feeling some kind of perverse pleasure when he noticed how startled the man looked. It had been days, weeks since the events of the Day of the Dead and the search for Beatrice and Sheldon Sands had not wavered in the least. He would not let it. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed those two kids. His chances of being reelected were already high, but not high enough. If they found his son and daughter – dead or alive – he would be a shoe in for governor once again.

His patients were running thin, however, very thin. The CIA's fruitless searches were not helping, and now they were about to declare the four agents they had send out looking for his son after the Day of the Dead missing in action. He'd be damn if he let his worthless, smart-mouthed, ambition-lacking kids ruin the election for him.

"Governor Sands, I assure you –"

"You've been assuring me for the past three weeks, Latch! I want answers not your tales of your agency's feeble attempts at finding my kids."

"But sir," Latch began, surveying the governor sternly, "I'm not aware if anyone has told you, but your son has been known to do this before. He's gone missing for longer periods of time and then turned up perfectly fine."

'_Yeah right, that's a lie. That bastard couldn't be fine even if he _WANTED _to._'

But Latch chose not to voice the thought. He did not want to get on a governor's bad side, after all. Instead he decided to continue by saying:

"As for your daughter . . . she's been missing for three years – now I'm just thinking logically, governor – but you must know her chances of being alive are –"

"What did I tell you about wanting them alive or dead?" the governor snarled through gritted teeth. "As long as you people FIND them and find them soon –"

"Um, excuse me," someone simpered from the doorway.

Both men's heads turned to see a young woman with dark hair and a pointed face edging her way into the office.

"Catherine," the governor sighed, giving the girl an annoyed glare, "I'm in the middle –"

"I thought you'd like to know," his stepdaughter interrupted coolly.

"Know what?" he demanded tiredly.

Cat ran her tongue over her lips, a disgusting habit he thoroughly detested.

"You're still looking for dear Sheldon, right?"

"I think that would be obvious, dear," her stepfather snapped. It was clear that the governor was nearing his breaking point. At any moment he would snap. Best to prevent all hell from breaking loose and let him in on her newly discovered info. However . . .

"And Lynné," Cat quizzed, trying his patients, "we're still fretting about her, right?"

"Catherine," her stepfather warned loudly, "if you're go –"

Governor Sands stopped at once when he saw the cold grin forming slowly across his eldest stepdaughter's face.

- - -

"Oh God, oh God . . . I am such an IDIOT."

"Well, I'm not gonna disagree with ya, Gracie," Sands informed her from his casually reclined position on the hospital bed.

"Well Adam had just told us he had finished, what was I supposed to do?" Grace asked defensively.

"Turning off your phone wouldn't've been a bad idea," Lyn suggested cynically.

"Ohh," was all her stepsister said before plunging a hand into her mouth and commencing in gnawing on her fingernails.

"And Cat was on the other end, I have this sick feeling . . ." she muttered a moment later.

"Which completely destroys all hope of keeping this whole fiasco quiet, but oh well," Lyn said calmly. Inhaling theatrically, she continued, "Okay, here's what we have to do –"

"First we need a convincing story," Sands said, "one that everyone, the CIA especially, will buy."

"Yes, I was getting to that, thank you," Lyn said irritably, casting an annoyed glance at her brother. "Here's what I was thinking: Sands, you only have to give them your story because the CIA will go along with that. If anyone asks, we know absolutely nothing about Miller, Baronn, and their thugs, savvy? We heard about Adam's experimental surgery the night the coup went down and we left shortly afterward, so we never saw them.

"Liam," she said, facing her partner, "you're traumatized by the whole experience. The sight of my darling brother's . . . loss has sent you into shock, so if anyone questions you, you bow your head, stare at the floor, and don't say a word."

Liam looked confused and a little wary at Lynné's instructions but nodded once to show he understood.

"Oh," she added as an after though, "and if you could managed to rock back and fourth a little every now and then . . . that'd be great."

Ignoring her partner's befuddled expression, Lyn turned to Grace and continued.

"Grace, I'm not sure what to do with you, really. But I'm thinking that after Liam, Sands, and I left Mexico, we called you because we knew you'd help and you complied, telling your dear husband that you were called away on doctor's business. And you told him that because we informed you that everything needed to be kept under raps until we had Sands fixed up and were ready to let the CIA know."

Gulping hard, her stepsister bobbed her head in a mechanical fashion.

"And you . . . ?" she asked in hushed tones.

There was a very tense pause. Lyn tilted her head to the ceiling, letting out a slow, tired breath.

"The cartel nabbed me, held me captive for three years, and – by means I do not remember – I somehow miraculously escaped and found Sands as I was ambling down the dusty streets of Mexico."

A soft "Oh" was Grace's only reaction to these words.

"Oh, and guys?" Lyn asked, brining her head back down to face the three people that crowded the small hospital room. "One more thing. As far as my little subject of question is concerned" – she tapped her left leg which emitted a hollow sound like fingernails drumming against the plastic – "nobody needs to know."

- - -

"And as the elections draw closer there is one candidate in particular who stands out in everyone's mind. Yes, I am talking about the governor of Colorado, Mr. Robert J. Sands, and the case of his missing chil -- "

The news reporter's latest bit of gossip was abruptly cut short when the screen of the TV went blank. Lowering her arm, Lynné stared leisurely over at the door as one of Dr. Fusco's tootsie nurses opened the door and poked her (obviously dyed) blonde head through the small crack.

"Um, Mr. Sands?" she asked uncertainly, "there're some –"

"I don't need and introduction; he knows who I am," an angry voice broke in.

"Unfortunately, yes," Sands replied, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

In the chair beside his bed, Lynné smirked at the action, not realizing just how long it had been since she had seen Sands roll his eyes. He still couldn't see – that could take a while, as Dr. Fusco had said – but the fact that there were eyes in his head made all the difference. She was going to have to talk him into getting colored contacts, though. Green eyes did nothing for his image.

Making sure the door was closed before he did anything that would effect his chances of being reelected, Governor Sands whirled around to glare furiously at his two children, who returned the look in full.

"What is the matter with the two of you!?" their father hissed through his teeth. Lynné noted that her father was keeping his voice down whereas the man she knew three years ago would have yelled. Obviously there were people outside their door and what kind of heart-felt family reunion would it be if their father could be heard all the way to Cullican and back? Lyn stole a glance at Sands, hoping that he had picked up on this too. If so, it would be highly amusing to see the man who had ignored and used her pushed to the limit. And she had been having less and less fun ever since Mexico.

"Do you know just how long I –"

"– well, not YOU – " Lyn cut in.

"– have been searching for you??" her father demanded, ignoring her. Well, that wasn't anything new. "Have you any idea how much your disappearance has affected everyone?"

"Judging by the fact that the search for me only went on for two days, I'd say not a lot," Lyn said coolly. Once again, her father chose to shove her comments aside and continue with his rant.

"Where the hell WERE you!?"

"Oh, here and there," Sands replied offhandedly.

"And you never called?" their father snarled. "Never tried to make any sort of contact?"

"Well, if we knew you were going to act like this – which we did," his daughter assured him, "– do you really think we would've been eager to call you?"

"Don't – I . . . don't you dare attempt your mind tricks with me, young lady, I won't have it!"

"Just like you won't have anything else to do with me," Lyn muttered under her breath.

"I all honesty, Dad," Sands began, "why would someone who has tried to get rid of his kids for the past twenty-some years send out a search and rescue team once he'd heard they'd gone missing? Wouldn't that just be a dream come true for him? So why would he go to all lengths to find them?"

"My guess is he's just trying to up his popularity ratings," Lyn told him.

"I pressed for your retrieval because I am your father and I care about you!" their father insisted with sincerity that fooled neither of them. Lynné tsked, shaking her head back and fourth.

"Upping the ratings," she murmured in a singsong voice.

Her father stood there, fuming as he glared down at the two of them, his only children, two of the people he wished his departed wife had never had. Upon thinking of these memories, Lynné rose from her chair. She couldn't take it. There would be no yelling involved, no threats, no rants, no tears, but she would have her say. It just wouldn't be here. She took her father by the arm.

"What has gotten into you!?" he demanded.

She ignored his protests as he had ignored her for the past twenty-seven years, and led him out of the room.

Once outside of Sands' room, Lynné shoved her father into the nearest chair with strength he would not have expected from her. She stood before him, her arms crossed. Her eyes, as dark as his own, bore into him, reading his every thought.

"I would just like to say," she began, "that I am disgusted, thoroughly disgusted with you. No – don't speak." She held out a finger of warning. "Don't – say – anything. It's rude to interrupt.

"Ever since I came into his miserable world, you have brushed me aside, ignoring only until you thought I could be of some use to you. And that's exactly what you're doing now. Don't think I don't know, because I'm not the stupid little smart-mouthed snot that you think I am, Daddy dearest.

"I've been snooping around a little, watching the news and such . . . and, low and behold, there you are. And you're running for a second term as governor I see. You're chances at being reelected aren't too bad . . .but that rival of yours certainly looks promising. What if he beat you out? Well, we can't have that happening, now, can we?"

She smiled ironically.

"So what do you do?" Lyn pondered aloud. "Ohhhh, that's right! The kids! And, there's been a little bit of bad news – they've gone missing. But wait a minute, wait a minute . . . that's not as bad as it seems. You could USE that. Play the sympathy card, win the public over, and be elected as governor of Colorado all over again."

Laughing mirthlessly, Lyn continued, "I gotta hand it to ya, Daddy. You may have used one of the oldest tricks in the book, but . . . you did it well. You even had me convinced – well . . . not REALLY, but I'm sure you've gotten a lot of people on your side."

Smirking mischievously, Lyn took in the sight of her father as he thought over everything she had just said and as the mask of comprehension he wore morphed into horror. He gaped up at her, shaking his head. Lynné smiled with mock sympathy.

"Don't worry, Daddy, dear. I'm not going to tell the public. Blabbing's not my style, you understand. Although . . ." she murmured. "I would LOVE to get up there and inform them of your little plans once you're made governor. Oh, wow . . . I can see it so clearly: There are reporters all around, cameras are flashing like crazy, and I'm standing at this podium, surrounded by microphones.

"No matter WHAT he tells you," Lyn said, acting like she was giving a speech to a press team of gossip-hungry reporters, "Governor Sands IS going to raise our taxes, he is NOT going to try and help our economy – he doesn't even CARE about it. And, despite the fact that he claims to be neutral and says that everyone has a right to choose, he is very much against gay marriages. Thank you."

Lynné looked back down at her father and saw that he was on the brink of rage once again. This pleased her immensely; it had been too long since she had been allowed to irk her father, and now she finally had him in her power. Lynné Sands was back in control. Halle- fucking –lujah.

Finally, her father jerked his head towards Sands' door and demanded:

"What happened to him?"

"Cartel ripped out his eyes," Lyn answered flatly. "They're green now. Didn't you notice?"

Her father said nothing, but was at least civil enough to look at least a little stunned.

"So what will it be," Lyn proposed conversationally, "Ya gonna lay off and keep the press at a minimal or are we gonna have to have this talk about? What d'you say?"

And she held out her arms, her face plastered with a smile of sickening sweetness.

"Daddy?"

Her father rose from his chair, glaring daggers down at his daughter, who merely smiled up at him adoringly. Furious that the woman was unperturbed by his unfathomable anger, he turned abruptly on his heel, and strode out down the hallway without so much as a second look.

'_Victory for me?_' she mused quietly.

And the voice agreed, albeit, grudgingly.

**_Yes, yesss . . . victory for you._**

Upon striding back into Sands' room, Lynné sighed with relief as she slid into her chair once more. Sands lay in the bed beside her, propped up by many pillows and scowling agitatedly as he flipped through the channels on the TV. However, when he heard his sister sigh, he put down the remote and turn his attention away from the television.

"So . . . did you let into him?" he asked.

"Well, I told him what I thought of him," Lyn replied, somewhat surprised that he hadn't listened in on the conversation, "and then I calmly informed him that I didn't think the idea of him using his children's disappearance to save his campaign would go over well with the public. I don't think he took it very well," she added as an afterthought.

"He left?" Sands inquired.

"Yeah, he left," his sister answered, nodding, "Though I'd be lying if I said that we weren't gonna have to appear to the press one of these days."

"Great. And I'd be lying if I said I thought that the CIA wouldn't want to hear about this."

"Groovy," Lyn responded sardonically.

"Well," Sands said reasonably, "at least things are . . . finally getting back on track."

Lynné gave a hollow, disbelieving laugh.

"Yeah . . ."

"What color are these things anyway?" Sands asked, gesturing to the new pair of eyes he had acquired, giving Lyn a questioning look.

"Green," she answered, still laughing quietly.

"Oh, they're green?" Sands mused. "How does that look on me?"

"Sands, dear, I must be truthful," Lyn said with a little sigh.

She reached out and placed a hand on her brother's shoulder, shaking her head sympathetically.

"It does absolutely nothing for your image."

Sands smirked as he leaned back into his pillows, knowing full well that Lynné was wearing the same exact look. He couldn't see her, but that didn't mean that he doubted himself. Was there such thing as men's intuition? No matter. In time, perhaps, he would be able to see, and then he'd know exactly how his sister looked when she spoke to him. For a while, he'd have to rely on his instincts, but Sands could dig that.

El Final . . .

La Fin . . . 

_**The End!**_

_It's over! And I've changed my mind about the epilogue. I tried writing one but I just really liked this the way it ended and really hated how I was going with the epilogue, so I axed it. How did everyone like the ending, by the way? Was it all right? Or does it feel like there should be more to it?_ (bites lip) _Hmm . . . well, if it does, then I guess now would be the time to say that, yes, I am going to write a sequel – (winces as people run screaming) o.o;; Um, I'm already in the process of writing it right now, actually. Speaking of which, I should be off. But before I go, I've got to give thanks to everyone who reviewed and post the lyrics to the song that this story is titled after. (Invader Zim style, because I must pay tribute to the little green guy) Here I go!_

**Adrejon: **Hey, thanks! Glad you like the idea of Sands having a sister, I was hesitant about going with that at first, but I think it worked out. Thanks again.

**I: **Merci! I continued, as you can see. =)

**FallenAngel: **Thanks for the critique. In all honesty, I didn't notice the mistakes there and when I read your review I went and fixed them immediately cuz I'm so nit-picky about spelling and grammar errors. 9.6 Thanks very much.

**DragonHunter200: **I'm so glad I had you going in the chapter where their dad appeared on the news for the first time! That's what I was going for, actually. I really wanted him to come off as a loving and caring father who was very worried about his children's safety. That way the fact that he turns out to be a real jerk has a real impact. And I am pleased to see that someone got the 21 Jump Street ref. XD Thank you for your reviews and for sticking with this fic! =D

**Dawnie-7: **Yay! I actually kept some people amused throughout this thing. Actually, I kept worrying that some would think that this wasn't very believable because I would slip some light comedy in there every now and then. But this is Sands we're talking about! He should've worn a shirt that said 'Comic Relief' in OUaTiM, he really should have. Cuz aside from restoring the balance, he also kept us amused while El and the others were somewhat angst-y. But, yeah, anyway, thank you very much for reviewing and keeping up with this. And, sadly, I have yet to figure out why hotel rooms are always cold. Ah well.

**Savvy TBird: **Unexpected? Thanks! And funny as well, huh? Thanks! Glad I kept you interested! Merci beucoup!

**The Gilatas Monster: **Steph D! =D!!! 'Perché non Dormire Più' means 'and let him sleep no more,' by the way. Yes, you were right, dear. Do not strain yourself. u.u

**Invader Nicole: **Not exactly how he got his eyes back in the RP but he got 'em back all the same, hah. =) Lyn's still complaining about having to dispose of her Corvette, by the way. 9.9 Thanks, and good luck getting to Scotland! =)

To anyone else, thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this. Never gotten this many reviews on a story – especially this many NICE reviews, so I'm feeling a bit better about my abilities as a writer. Gah, I'll stop and post the song lyrics before I start getting all sappy. But, seriously, thank you, guys. I appreciate your comments and constructive criticisms very muchly. =) And now, on with the song!

(Note: Any words that have this before them are the words that I think relate to the story really well)

The Long Way Home 

By

_Tom Waits_ (but sung by Norah Jones on her new CD 'Feels Like Home' in case anyone is interested)

_Well I stumbled in the darkness.  
I'm lost and alone,_

_Though I said I'd go before us,  
And show the way back home.  
Is there a light up ahead?  
I can't hold onto very long.  
Forgive me, pretty baby, but I always take the long way home._

_Money's just something you throw,  
Off the back of a train.  
Got a handful of lightening,  
A hat full of rain._

_And I know that I said,_

_I'd never do it again._

_And I love you, pretty baby, but I always take the long way home._

_I put food on the table,_

_And roof overhead,_

_But I'd trade it all tomorrow,_

_For the highway instead._

_Watch your back if I should tell you,  
Love's the only thing I've ever known._

_One thing for sure, pretty baby, I always take the long way home._

_You know I love you baby,_

_More than the whole wide world._

_You are my woman,  
I know you are my pearl._

_Let's go out past the party lights._

_We can finally be alone.  
Come with me, and we can take the long way home._

_Come with me, together we can take the long way home._

_Come with me, together we can take the long way home._

- - -

_See you for the sequel, guys! And for all of those who have a severe terror of airplanes, elevators, or other such things that could possibly cause your death, please, stay away from such movies as Final Destination, Final Destination II, and any other sequels that may follow. It's for your own acutely paranoid good, guys. Thank you._

-- _ESY_


End file.
